


8-Ball

by raiast



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Gambling, Hannibal is 35, Hannibal is Hannibal, M/M, Pool & Billiards, Sex for Money, Southern Darling Will Graham, Will is 15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-12-16 13:11:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21036776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiast/pseuds/raiast
Summary: Desperate to find a way to keep his dad from abandoning the first city Will has come to call home in the last decade, Will finds work at a bar for some cash under the table. There, he also moonlights as a pool shark to scam some money from the local drunks. When a rich foreigner makes an appearance, willing to make a substantial bet on a game with him, Will raises the stakes with the only thing he has left -- his body.Based on a prompt in kinkmeme by the illustrious HigherMagic!





	1. Pool Shark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HigherMagic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/gifts).

> I can't believe I posted this without thanking [BelladonnaWyck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelladonnaWyck/pseuds/BelladonnaWyck) for all of the knowledge of Southern living. From geography to booze to slang, this story is better because of you. (Seriously, I didn't even know where Biloxi was when I started this fic.) Thank you, darling!!!

Biloxi was as fine a city as any, as far as Will was concerned. It helped that it was one he and his father had been parked at for more than half a year--not a first for them, but certainly not of the norm, either. They had been in that region for a record-breaking fifteen months, comfortable enough with the location and prospects of work that they moved from their usual by-the-week motel rental to an honest-to-God piece of property in a trailer park only a few miles out from the docks. It was the first time Will could remember starting and finishing one year of school in the same place. Not long enough to make any actual friends (Will never made friends, no matter how long they stayed in one place), but long enough to lay down some roots, to get comfortable.

It was just as Will began mentally referring to the city as ‘home’ rather than ‘here’ that all the warning signs of an imminent upheaval began to pop up. The days his dad went down to the docks began to dwindle, slowly at first, so Will didn’t really ruminate on the fact that he dropped from seven days down at the docks to six, because really, what man wanted to live his life without even a single day to himself? And then six became five, shortly thereafter four, and the whiskey made an appearance each night after dinner.

His father didn’t drink to excess, that Will knew of at least, nor did he turn angry or abusive when he drank. It was the escape that he chose when things began to get rough; Will had seen that pattern early enough in his life. He sat in his chair and stared at their too-small TV with its never-quite-clear reception, silent as the grave, still until that glass would get raised to his lips, or his hand would reach down to the bottle at his side to refill it when empty. 

Will knew that there were worse ways his father could behave when he drank, but it was still eerie to watch a small piece of the normally boisterous and resilient Beau Graham get chipped away each time that bottle cap came unscrewed. He knew better yet, from every white trash neighbor they’d ever shared a motel wall with, that there were worse avenues of escape his father could choose. Whiskey was better than crack or heroin, but it was still an expense they couldn’t afford when work was scarce.

Will found that he didn’t want to leave Biloxi. His father had all but thrown in the towel, seeing clearly the writing on the wall, though he wouldn’t admit such until the day arrived in which they could not gather sufficient funds for rent the following month. Only then would he plaster that carefree grin back onto his face, slap Will on the back and say something along the lines of, “Ya know, Willy, I think your old man’s itchin’ for a change a scenery. How ‘bout you?” or “I hear Delacroix is a charmin’ place to settle down. Plenty of work down there.”. Then they would pack up their meager belongings into their Ford F100--the nicest thing they’ve owned (and, Will is fairly certain, _ will _ ever own) since the day they lost their little house in New Orleans. That had been a decade ago, when Will had just turned five, and he scarcely remembered a thing about it except for the hazy memory of aged, shag carpet between his bare toes and the fact that the house itself was blue.

Being fifteen, Will thought it was about time he turned proactive in this whole affair. There were ways for a teenager to earn some spare cash, after all. Maybe if Will could help with a bill or two, pitch in that last hundred or so for rent, it would ease the burden that grew heavier upon his dad’s shoulders day after day. Maybe enough so that he would turn proactive too, quit drinking every night and turn that money instead to the gas tank to venture a bit farther from the city for work. Maybe they could make it work, stay in Biloxi a little longer.

However, being fifteen, Will found that it was very difficult to find work that would actually make him any decent money. He didn’t like being around people, for one, so as much as he wished he could just stomach it for the money itself, he found himself avoiding any prospects where he had to work with the public directly. There was also the matter of his not being fond of eye contact, which didn’t make for a great first impression during a job interview; people that couldn’t make eye contact were found to be either untrustworthy or rude, and neither trait was endearing to a potential employer. The few that _ did _ have mercy on his antisocial little soul were adamant about following the child labor laws enforced by the state, which meant that Will couldn’t work more than three hours at a time, nor more than fifteen hours a week. At minimum wage and after taxes, it was hardly even worth Will’s time to show up.

Landing a job at The Fish Wreck had been fortuitous and a complete accident. Will had been cutting through the alleyway that ran behind the bar on his way home just as the owner was about to lose a case of beer from atop the wobbling stack in her arms when Will stepped forward and relieved her of the burden. After he made it clear to the alarmed, skeptical woman that he had no intention of running off with said merchandise, he’d earned himself a crisp, twenty dollar bill for his aid in unloading the rest of the truck. When the work was done, Mel gave him a cold glass of water and he gave her his story. She hired him on the spot to do some heavy lifting and cleaning around the bar for cash, under the table. 

Mel was gruff and crass; yelled at him when he called her ‘ma’am’ and called him ‘kid’ or ‘tadpole’ more than anything else. Will adored her. Moreso when he saw her in action with the patrons of the Wreck, who always got to some level of drunk enough to think that their advances would get them somewhere with the woman. He couldn’t say he blamed them, really; she had pretty features, certainly, though rough all around in a world-weary sort of way, and the attitude she wrapped around herself like a cloak was usually more than enough deterrence for any potential suitors. Will knew there was a story there, knew even that he would see it, if he looked long and hard enough. He never did, though; he respected Mel too much to try.

The patrons, rowdy as they got, were another reason Will loved spending his free time at the Wreck. They treated Will like a little brother doing his chores, more often than not, only giving him guff in a good-natured sort of way. They were as close to friends as someone like Will was likely to make, and, more importantly, most of them were terrible at pool (Will didn’t really know why; it’s simple geometry, after all), which Mel let him hang around to play when he finished his work for the evening. Of course, it never really sits well with a grown man when he loses money on a game to a little shit half his age, so Will was usually able to squeeze a few twenties out of each contender before they finally conceded that they weren’t getting their drinking money back that night.

It was an ideal arrangement--Will had something to keep him busy during the summer months out of school and usually managed to bring in about as much money off the table as his dad earned legitimately (though Will only ever produced as much money as needed when bills were due, keeping a sharp eye on the recycling bin that continued to fill with beer cans and liquor bottles at a dishearteningly rapid pace). 

It was one such summer night that found Will at the Wreck, slogging through his usual routine of cleaning the bathrooms and washing glasses. The usual bunch had been particularly thirsty that evening, and Will had made sure to keep a close eye on the men, waiting until they were in well-enough spirits to foolishly bet against him but not so far gone that things would get hairy if one of them turned out to be a sour loser. As soon as he spotted their third pitcher of beer reach a critical level, he sidled up to Mel behind the counter.

“I’m pretty much done for the night, ‘sides a few more glasses and the floors,” he informed her as he lined up the freshly washed pint glasses along the shelf below the bar. “Mind if I get a few rounds in?”

He could see Mel’s smirk from the corner of his eye, felt her gaze upon him, and schooled himself to keep his expression neutral. Innocent. “Yer shameless, ya know that? Alright, pool shark, go get your chum. With closin’ down early tonight at least _ one _of us should get their money.” Will snickered at that. “Save me a trip and bring those fools another pitcher while yer at it, eh, tadpole?”

“Sure thing,” Will agreed, grabbing a fresh pitcher and moving to the tap. To his left, Mel asked one of the patrons sitting at the end of the bar what she could get for them.

“Is there a wine list I could peruse?” 

Will had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from scoffing out loud at the question. Did that man _ see _ what bar he just walked into? Mel, as the proprietor and one who generally just didn’t give a shit, was not concerned about hiding her own amusement.

“No need, got it memorized. Ya ready? Red or white.”

“Jameson,” came the clipped reply. “Neat, please.”

“Sure thing, darlin’,” Mel chirped. Will reached up to the top shelf to retrieve the bottle for her and left her with a nod when she cooed her thanks at him.

Over in the back corner of the bar near the singular pool table, a group of regulars--largely composed of fishermen and mechanics--sat sprawled out across two booths, deep in what appeared to be an engaging and heated discussion about the advantages and pitfalls of one motor over another. Will took a breath and straightened his spine as he approached, eyes scanning over the group to get a general sense of what countenance he needed to assume for the evening. He could go for lonely boy seeking a friend to kill boredom, though it was harder to transition to games for cash that way. By the time he reached the table, he’d slipped into his ‘cocky shit’ suit, which always got at least one or two of the boys riled up enough to throw some money down on a game.

“Fresh Bud,” he announced to a chorus of approval as he set the pitcher down amidst the men’s mostly empty glasses.

“Hey, Willy! Your daddy got an inboard or outboard motor?” Arlen called to him from where he was squeezed in the corner, anxious to drag Will into their argument.

“My pa doesn’t got a boat, but he’ll fix any motor you lot throw at him.”

“When’s your old man gonna come get a cold one with us? Mr. Big Man Beau Graham too good to drink with the local scum?” Leo smacked Will’s torso playfully with the back of his hand. Leo was one of the older men of the group, and as such always sat on the outside of one of the booths. He would swear up and down this was due to seniority and respect, but Will was pretty certain it was because the bulky man had to adjourn to the restrooms the most frequently and it was easier to let him sit on the edge than deal with letting him in and out of the booth all night.

Will grinned down at him. “Nah, just has more sense than you fools to drink himself under the table when he’s gotta be up at the ass-crack of dawn.” It was a better response than admitting that Beau Graham would much rather drink himself silly in the quiet solitude of his trailer. He leaned forward, planting his hands on the table in front of him and glanced around the drunks. “Any you old dogs feelin’ lucky tonight?”

“Murph was runnin’ his mouth earlier ‘bout gettin’ one on you tonight,” Arlen volunteered, craned his head over his shoulder to the booth behind him. “Hey, Murph! Time to put your money where your mouth is!”

There was a grunt of assent from the next booth over and then the usual commotion of grunts and grumbles as Murph extricated himself from his corner of the booth. Murph couldn’t have been more than forty, but he looked as though he might have had the roughest life of the entire bunch. He stood tall and lean (though this evening he was more swaying than standing), so that Will had to tilt his head back to see the man’s face. He was already fumbling in his pockets, looking for his wallet, even as his seatmate Dwayne was hollerin’ after him that he’d left it in the booth.

Will quirked an eyebrow at Murph, a wry smirk twisting his lips as the man finally got his wallet into his hands and pulled a twenty out of it. “You sure you’re up for it tonight, old man?” 

“I’ll teach ya _ pool,” _ the mechanic slurred, rocking forward and gifting Will with the hot and sour breeze of his whiskey-soaked breath, “‘n then I’ll teach ya _ respect.” _

Will grinned, slipping past the ornery man to retrieve two cues for them from the rack on the wall. “You know the drill. Challenger breaks.”

Murph did not teach him about pool _ or _respect, though Will did learn a thing or two about using your pool cue as a third leg when you’re too drunk to stand. He won the first game in short order, much to the amusement of their onlookers. When Will generously offered to go double or nothing with him, Murph mumbled something about conditions and then hollered for another whiskey and a glass of water.

One of the younger mechanics obliged him, slipping over to the bar and back with the drinks. Murph shoved the glass of water--already forming condensation in the warm, muggy air--into Will’s hands. He had the whiskey halfway to his mouth before he realized that something wasn’t right.

“No, no,” he chided, switching out Will’s water for the whiskey, as if Will was the one who had made the mistake. “Seems a bit of’n’vantage, sober as y’are. Dri--drink, drink up, Willy! Le’see how ya do then.” Without another word (slurred or otherwise), Murph chugged the glass of water in one, as if it would negate the five hours of whiskey and beer previously imbibed.

Will glanced over to the bar and, finding Mel otherwise occupied, turned his back on the bar and shot back the amber liquid. He got it down, which elicited a chorus of approval from the group of men, but couldn’t stop the reflexive cough that clawed out of his burning throat afterwards, and their cheers turned to raucous laughter. The noise drew Mel’s attention, and she called over to them, a warning in her voice.

“Y’all behavin’ over there, ‘pole?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Will called back, though he was pretty certain the tightness in his voice from his still stinging throat was enough to give him away. She didn’t argue further, and Will and Murph set into round two. 

His belly buzzed with a pleasant warmth from the drink, the remaining tension that had flooded his shoulders finally seeping out. It wasn’t the first time he’d had a drink, though when his dad felt extra lonely and shared a small glass with Will, he only ever sipped at the liquor. An unexpected giddiness shivered through him as they played, and he could definitely understand why a person would choose to drink in their free time. 

Somehow, the second game was even shorter than the first. Will’s spirit was high, boosted with whiskey and confidence, and he racked up the balls once more as Murph stormed off, his declaration that he was going out for a smoke buried within the stream of his curses. 

“Alright, then, who’s next?” Will called as he pushed the rack of balls into position for a new game. He glanced around with a frown when no one stepped up. Perhaps he should have let Murph twist awhile longer; it seemed he had scared off the other fish with his showboating. “Aw c’mon y’all; _ no one’s _ willin’ to give it a go?”

“I’ll try my hand.” 

It was the low, smooth, accented voice from the bar earlier. Will felt a chill dip through him at the prim and proper tone, though his backwater instincts were clambering to tear the man down for being something that wasn’t out of the South. Something worse than even a Yankee; a _ foreigner. _

He cast a glance over to the speaker, his eyes settling on a suit of silver, blue and grey plaid. They darted to a shiny, metallic colored pocket square and then to the man’s chest, where a dark purple and silver paisley tie disappeared beneath a buttoned waistcoat. Rich. 

Will schooled his expression, feigned disinterest at the newcomer. “You got cash?”

He watched as hands that were somehow both masculine and delicate retrieved a black, leather wallet and pulled out a bill. “I’m afraid I’ve only got a hundred on me,” the foreigner announced, not sounding contrite in the least as he pulled out a crisp, one-hundred dollar bill.

Will shrugged and flashed him a smile. “I’m afraid I don’t make change.” He let his eyes drift up to the man’s face briefly, took in olive skin and sharp angles before his eyes settled closer to the man’s plaid-covered shoulder. He took it as consent when the man laid the bill down on the edge of the pool table. “Challenger breaks,” he informed the newcomer, handing him Murph’s discarded pool cue. “You know 8-Ball? No offense but, uh, you don’t exactly seem the type to spend a lot of time playing pool.”

His contender accepted the cue with a nod and strolled around to the front of the table to take his position. “I must admit, my knowledge is more theoretical than hands on, but I’m confident enough to try regardless.” He dipped down, impossibly agile and feline, and his cue darted forward before Will even realized that he’d lined up his shot. The cue ball struck the triangle with a sharp _ crack _ and sent the rest of the balls scattering. They were silent as the balls settled into place, the twelve tipping over into a corner pocket just when it seemed it may stop moving. “It’s simple geometry, after all. That’s stripes for me, then?”

Will nodded silently in agreement, his stomach buzzing once again, and that time he wasn’t sure he could blame it on the alcohol. He took stock of this newcomer more thoroughly as he moved around the table with purposeful strides. He was a sort of beautiful that Will would never associate with the South; masculine but regal, proper. This man wasn’t just rich, he was from _ old _ money; raised with it. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he was from some European aristocratic line, though Will couldn’t quite place his accent by ear. He watched as the man paused before the cue ball and unbuttoned his jacket, slipping out of it and folding it neatly in one deft move before placing it gingerly upon an empty table behind him.

The waistcoat beneath matched the plaid of his jacket and pants, a striking blue button-down shirt beneath that. His opponent took a moment to fold his sleeves up to his elbows and then leaned down to take his next shot. Will stared at the man’s bared forearms, tan and thick and rippling with the force of his next stroke. Will heard the balls clattering around on the table, and the shot must not have been a successful one, because suddenly the man was looking at him expectantly and Will realized that he had no idea what his play was. 

He glanced down to the table, flustered, but was pleased to find that the cue ball had settled along the far bank not five inches from his own three, lined up perfectly with the corner pocket. He felt some of his cocky confidence flood back into himself at the sight and flashed the man a wry smirk as he strolled over to that end of the table. 

“What a beautiful shot you’ve lined up for me,” he purred, leaning down and making short work of the three. “Thank you, Mister.”

“Doctor,” the man corrected, and Will did a double-take from the table. “Doctor Hannibal Lecter,” he elaborated, extended his hand to Will over the expanse of the table between them.

Will swallowed, his throat feeling dry all of a sudden. “Will Graham,” he replied, reached out to give the powerful hand a brief shake. He turned back to the table, his mouth splitting into a grin when he saw where the cue ball had settled. He spread his legs and leaned down to the table, lined up his cue. He flashed another grin up to the man across from him. “Sorry about your money,” he apologized, glanced back down and sent his cue forward. The cue ball went sailing down the length of the table, cracking into the one and six balls that had been huddled together towards the middle and sending them each spiraling into their respective corner pockets.

“You’re very skilled at this game,” Hannibal noted, though he didn’t sound worried in the least by Will’s progress. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen next month,” Will breezed without glancing from the table. He sent another of his balls spinning into the pocket, but the cue ball followed suit. “Damn,” he muttered. “Your ball,” he gestured to the offending pocket, eyes trailing the man as he strode around the table to pluck up the cue ball and place it in the kitchen strategically. “You’re a bit overdressed for this sort of venue,” Will observed as Hannibal bent low and guided his cue between splayed fingers on felt. 

He must have made his shot, because he stalked to the other side of the table where the cue ball stopped and considered his options before ducking down once more. “I’m in town for a conference. I’ve just come from giving a lecture.”

Will severely doubted that this man would be dressed much differently if that hadn’t been the case. He missed his second shot, and Will prowled forward as soon as the cue ball lay dormant. “Your hotel doesn’t have a bar?” he questioned skeptically, striking the right side of the cue ball to send it spinning left into the solid ball sitting next to a side pocket.

“I can hardly say I’ve seen Biloxi if I spend all of my free time at my hotel,” Hannibal pointed out.

Will couldn’t stop his cackle at that, though it didn’t stop his aim from being true. One more ball sunk, one more to go and then only the eight ball stood between him and a hundred dollars. He laid waste to the number four, paused before he took note of the eight ball, turning his gaze back to the man across from him. “Hate to be the one to tell you, but this isn’t exactly the part of Biloxi that you want to brag about having seen. Eight ball, corner pocket,” he gestured with his cue. 

Will had quite forgotten that the two of them weren’t alone and was reminded of that fact when the eight ball sunk home and all of the drunk old men around them broke out into cheers.

“A game very well played,” Hannibal congratulated politely. Will studied him, and found that the doctor didn’t seem upset in the least that he’d just lost a hundred dollars. In fact, he was reaching into his pocket to bring out his wallet _ again, _ dropping _ another _ hundred dollar bill onto the edge of the table. “I feel a bit more warmed up now. I would love to play again.”

How could Will resist? His heart raced in his chest, and he told himself it was only because he was elated at having just won such a substantial amount off of one game. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, numb hands reaching into the pockets to pull out the balls and place them back into the rack. “Challenger breaks,” he reminded Hannibal, and if his voice was a bit breathy then it must only be because of the hot and humid air that sat heavily in the bar. He really needed to encourage Mel to get at least one more oscillating fan going in the place.

Hannibal broke once more and sunk a solid that time, sunk two more before Will was even given the chance to catch up. With half of Hannibal’s balls out of the way, Will had his veritable pick of the litter. He took a chance and went for a trick shot the banked off of the far wall and sent two consecutive balls into one pocket. 

“How does one your age come to work in a bar?” Hannibal asked him as he lined up his next shot. “I would think the state would have explicit rules against a minor employed in a business that serves alcohol.”

For the first time, Will’s eyes flicked up to Hannibal’s, leaning against the edge of the table just a few feet away. He couldn’t help but note that the man’s eyes were the color of warm whiskey, though something intangible and darker seemed to swirl beneath the rich color. His lips twisted into a smirk, and he briefly raised one finger to his lips to inform the foreign man that he’d stumbled upon a secret. Hannibal’s answering smirk sent a jolt coursing through Will that skewed his aim; he struck the cue ball on the right rather than dead center as planned and sent it careening uselessly to the other side of the table. He resisted pulling at the collar of his shirt, though Will suddenly felt so overheated that his head was swimming.

Hannibal’s next shot not only sunk one of Will’s balls, but the eight ball as well. Hannibal let out a hum of disapproval. “What an unfortunate mishap,” he intoned, still not sounding upset in the least that he’d lost such a substantial amount of money. 

Will tsked and strode over to the corner pocket and fished out the eight ball, placing it back on the table, approximately in its former position. His eyes pulled up, found Hannibal across the table. “I don’t win that way,” he informed him. He moved around to the far end where the cue ball had come to rest, brushing past Hannibal along his course. “I’ll take it as a scratch, though,” he murmured, and then bent low and put another of his balls away.

They passed through the next several rounds without much chatter, until Will was, once more, calling the eight ball and sending it home to a chorus of jeering cheers from around them.

“I have been bested once more,” Hannibal conceded politely with a nod. He strode around the table to stand before him and extended his hand. “Congratulations, Will,” he purred, and Will felt another violent shiver ripple down his spine at the man’s rich voice murmuring his name.

Another hand clapped him on the back and it took a moment for Will to register that it was Murph; apparently enough time had passed since his loss that they were friends again. A few more of the others crowded around him and praised him on a job well done. Leo pushed the two, crisp hundred dollar bills into Will’s hand with a wink and only then did Will find his eyes searching those around him for a tall figure with sharp edges in an immaculate suit. His eyes finally landed on the table where his expensive jacket had laid, but it was no longer there.

\---

Though Will was the one to win all the money, Leo was the one to order another whiskey from the bar to sneak to Will on the sly. No one else was up to playing with him, but they crowded him into one of their booths and spent the next twenty minutes crowing about his defeat over the strange newcomer. Will was still warm from drink and praise a half hour later when Mel called out to the bar that it was time to settle up tabs.

She was met with discordant cries of displeasure and was quick to snap right back at them, “I told you drunks last week I was shuttin’ down early tonight, so get over it and settle up!”

Will got to work wiping down the tables as Mel settled up the register; she set aside Will’s payment for the week and took the rest of the cash back to the office to lock up in the safe. When the last of the patrons had exited, Will fished out the key ring from his pocket and locked the front door after them. Mel was turning over chairs to stack onto the hi-tops when Will returned.

“Go home, Mel. You’ve got an early day. I can finish cleaning up.”

She flashed Will a warm smile, drifted over to him to pull him into a quick half-hug. “Thanks, kiddo. I’ll see you in a couple days. Well done tonight,” she congratulated with a wink. She gathered up her things and disappeared out the back door, leaving Will alone in the silent bar.

Will finished putting up the chairs, giving Mel the buffer of a few minutes to return for something she forgot. When he was certain he wouldn’t be disturbed, he slipped behind the bar and pulled out the old boombox stored down there. He plugged it in and it buzzed to life at once, still tuned to the country station he had set it to the last time he’d been in for cleaning outside of operating hours. He lingered behind the bar for a moment, considering, and then succumbed to temptation and poured himself one more small shot of whiskey. If anything, it would make his remaining cleaning and walk home a bit more interesting.

He was humming along contentedly to Hank Williams as he swept the floor when the jarring thud of the front door closing broke the peace around him. Will spun around on the spot, his stomach giving an excruciating _ twist _ when he saw Hannibal lingering in the entryway.

“Oh. Sorry, we, uh, we shut down early tonight. I thought I’d gotten the front door locked. Damn tumbler’s always sticking.”

“What a shame,” Hannibal intoned, taking another few steps in, “I was hoping to get in one more game this evening.”

Will couldn’t stop that shiver that spilled down his spine as Hannibal stepped closer, his grip tightening reflexively on the broom in his hands. He had a brief moment of wild panic, painfully aware that the two of them were completely alone; he brushed it off with an internal scoff at himself. “I’ve got the time, if you’re sure your wallet can handle it.”

He sauntered over to the back corner with the pool table, abandoning his broom against the wall and retrieving two cues from the rack.

“I did need to locate an ATM,” Hannibal was admitting as Will turned around to face him. That fancy wallet was back in his hands, pulling out multiple bills and placing them pointedly, one by one, upon the edge of the table. Will’s eyes followed each one as it struck home, his mouth and throat going dry.

“That’s a thousand dollars,” he stated flatly when the last bill fell. The foreign man hummed his agreement. “I can’t match that,” he pointed out, though he had no doubt that the other man already knew this.

Hannibal’s head tilted to the side slightly as he observed Will, his mouth tightening just slightly enough for Will to catch on to his displeasure. “This is what I’m willing to play for,” Hannibal responded dryly; his tone brooked no argument, though naturally that didn’t stop Will.

“I have three hundred,” Will informed him, pulling the wad of crumpled bills from his pocket and placing it by the neat stack of bills Hannibal had formed. “Three hundred dollars and the clothes on my back.”

The other man gave a considering hum, stepping around the corner of the table to drift closer to Will. His eyes scanned down the length of Will, back up, and Will found his cheeks warming fiercely under his gaze, quite certain it had nothing to do with the lack of air conditioning. “Even at a generous hundred dollars an article, you would still be short three hundred dollars,” Hannibal pronounced at last.

Will’s gaze was pulled to the money piled on the table, and his heart kicked into double-time, his stomach giving a hopeful lurch when he thought about all the problems that could be solved with another grand in the hands of the Grahams. He took a steadying breath and let his eyes drift up to lock onto Hannibal’s, half-certain already what he would find there when he bothered to look. He felt his flush spread down his neck, his stomach giving a different sort of delicious twist as raw heat pooled low in his gut. He forced his lips to pull up into a coy smile, despite his nerves that threatened to send him trembling. 

“There’s only one more thing I have left to offer,” he purred, forced his spine to straighten in false confidence, canted his hips out in a way that he prayed was alluring. “I’ve never been with anyone before,” he told him, and couldn’t stop himself from bashfully ducking his head at the admission. He took another shy step forward, until the space between them was all but nonexistent. Will could feel the heat radiating from the other man’s suit-clad body, could smell the woody spice of his cologne. “From the way you’ve been watching me tonight, I’m guessing that wouldn’t be a problem for you.”

He chanced another glance up and was struck dumb by the blatant hunger in Hannibal’s eyes, completely unmasked now, as if he’d dropped a veil that had only allowed Will to previously view him through a gauzy curtain. “For that, I will play,” he agreed in a rich murmur, and Will wasn’t entirely sure why the word _ smoldering _ suddenly flitted through his head, but all at once he felt as though he’d ignored every speech and sermon of his Southern Baptist upbringing and willingly made a deal with the Devil.

“Challenger breaks,” Will murmured back, aware, as Hannibal turned away from him to place their money on a nearby table, that the two pool cues in his hands were largely responsible for keeping him standing at the moment.

Will retrieved the small square of blue chalk and ground it against the tips of each of their poles, all the while watching Hannibal pull a chair down from the table and methodically hang his jacket over the back of it. Will’s mouth went dry when those deft fingers began to manipulate his sleeve cuffs once more, the heat in his gut twisting and slithering lower as thick, strong forearms were bared. He ripped his head to the side reflexively and glared at the wall when Hannibal turned back and caught him staring. 

The older man drifted over to him once again. He accepted one of the pool cues, and then his free hand was grasping Will’s chin, gently turning his face back. When Will chanced a helpless glance up to his face, he found a fond warmth radiating from him; his thumb came up to sweep tenderly across Will’s cheekbone. Will’s cheeks were scalding with his blush; he had to grit his teeth to stop himself from tilting into the man’s cool touch. “Chalk,” he explained, a private smile quirking the edge of his lips. Will nodded dumbly in response. “Do you mind?”

Will was certain that Hannibal could hear the way his heart was pounding half out of his chest. He shook his head, half on the verge of telling the man that he could touch Will any way he wanted, bet be damned, when Hannibal nodded to the other end of the pool table. “The rack,” he elaborated.

_ “Oh,” _ Will startled, eyes darting down the table to where the plastic triangle still sat snugly around the formation of balls. “Yeah. Of course,” he babbled, stepping away hastily to correct the situation. He fervently wished that he hadn’t had that third whiskey after close, wished that he’d had a fourth. A chill ran through him when Hannibal spoke on the subject as if he had read Will’s thoughts.

“I feel as though I’m taking up your mantle,” he observed wryly as he leaned down to the table and lined up his cue. “Preying on the inebriated for money.”

“I’m not drunk,” Will argued, mostly meaning it. He startled when the sharp _ crack _ of the balls breaking apart split the air. “Nor were you, when we played earlier.”

“But your usual contenders are,” Hannibal countered, gestured to the table when his break didn’t result in any balls pocketed.

He couldn’t stop his smirk as he leaned down and lined up. “My usual contenders are more than twice my age and know exactly what they’re getting into when they attempt to challenge me. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve beaten them plenty of times when they’re sober as well.” He felt his confidence return to him as his shot sank home, pushing aside the tingling warmth in his belly. “Stripes it is,” he murmured, and stalked over to the adjacent side of the table where the cue ball had stopped spinning.

“Don’t mistake me. I’m not here to lecture on the morality of your methods,” Hannibal assured him.

The more sober part of his brain stopped Will before he could point out how hypocritical that would be. He frowned as the cue ball followed its target into the pocket. “Why are you here?” he asked at last, as Hannibal retrieved the ball and placed it in the kitchen. “I don’t think it’s to win back your money. You didn’t seem particularly upset to have lost it, earlier.”

He watched the way Hannibal’s cue slid through his fingers, splayed out on the green felt to steady his shot. His cheeks were burning again, his adolescent brain recognizing just how _ suggestive _ that movement looked, especially when Hannibal did it. He was completely taken off guard when Hannibal’s cue and response shot forward at the same time.

“Tell me about your empathy, Will.”

He was _ not _ expecting _ that. _ Will glared at the pocket where Hannibal’s target disappeared. “There’s not much to tell,” he answered unhelpfully, bitter resentment clawing up within him. All at once, Will was pretty sure he knew what kind of doctor Hannibal was. “You’ve obviously seen enough of it to know what’s wrong with me.”

Hannibal made a discontented noise, and for some reason Will didn’t think that it was because he missed his next shot. “There’s nothing ‘wrong’ with you in the least, dear boy. I find it quite enchanting. I was watching you, before I approached for a game,” Hannibal told him.

Will grit his teeth against the shiver that threatened to ripple through him as he leaned his hip against the table and sent the cue ball tumbling down it’s length snugly against the wall until it tipped his ball in. Having that knowledge now somehow made him feel like prey retroactively, like he should have felt Hannibal’s heavy gaze upon him when he was screwing around with his group of drunks. He didn’t respond, but stalked to the end of the table where the cue ball balanced precariously on the edge of the corner pocket.

“I was intrigued by your confidence, the skill you exhibited at such a young age. I watched you interact with the others and thought, ‘what a pretty little Southern charmer’. And then I drew closer, and you surprised me once again.”

Will ignored the fact that his next shot did little but break up the crowd of balls at the center of the table, drawing upon all of his bravado to flash a wry smirk at the doctor. “Not so pretty up close, huh?”

“On the contrary,” Hannibal's murmured rebuttal sent another lick of heat twisting through Will’s limbs. He took his shot, sinking another ball, and then lined up his next before he spoke again. “I watched your personality transform before my eyes. You stood up straighter, stopped cursing and began to speak in full sentences with proper grammar. Even that lazy Southern drawl was altered, your words becoming more clipped and succinct. You began to mirror my body language and avoided even meeting my eyes until well into our second game.”

“I don’t do any of it on purpose,” Will told him softly, eyes focused on the table, where Hannibal’s next shot proved fruitless. “It just happens. Except for the eye contact. I avoid it, where I can. I see too much of people as it is and their eyes...are distracting. Always so unrestrained, inviting me in. But I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to know the things I know about people.”

“You’ve looked into my eyes,” Hannibal pointed out, and Will nodded as he contemplated the angles available to him. “Twice now. What do you know about me?”

Will paused in his pursuit for a shot, straightened his back and turned his attention to the man across the table from him. “I know you’re dangerous, even though I don’t know why,” he shrugged one shoulder and chewed at his bottom lip. “I don’t feel like I’m in danger.” Hannibal didn’t confirm or deny Will’s appraisal, only watched silently as Will took a successful shot and then lined up another. “I could see the desire before, too,” he divulged. “When we were trying to get my worth up to a grand. I think you somehow knew what I would offer, even though I didn’t until I was doing it. I think you were counting on it. I also think you knew we were closing up early tonight.”

He let it all spill out, a deluge of Hannibal’s private thoughts and motivations, gleaned from body language and the buzzing energy that had been building between them all night. His mind stuck on his last observation, suddenly wondering if that shitty lock on the front door had failed to turn over, or if this man had procured entrance by other means. It was enough to distract him, striking the cue ball off center and knocking the eight ball into the corner pocket where Hannibal stood. He made an aggravated sound in his throat at the slip, automatically tracking over to the corner and reaching in to retrieve the ball.

A broad hand wrapped around his wrist, warm and firm. Will’s eyes flitted up to Hannibal’s in confusion.

“What are you doing?” he asked Will, his voice low, melodic and almost mocking. “That’s game.”

Will’s stomach plummeted at the declaration, his hand dropping the ball back into the pocket in surprise. Hannibal didn’t remove his own. “But-”

“You may allow leniency, but I’m afraid I’m a staunch supporter of playing by the rules.”

The implications of that declaration hit Will all at once and his knees went wobbly. He twisted his body to lean back against the sturdy table for support. He couldn’t stop his eyes from flitting over to the table with their money despairingly. Behind them, Patsy Cline crooned about being crazy in love.

Hannibal broke the thick silence that had wrapped around them, his hand releasing Will’s wrist to drift up to his chin instead, guiding his gaze back to the man before him. “Were I you, Will, I would focus less on what’s been lost and more on what’s still owed.”

Will allowed his face to be tilted up, his stomach twisting and pulsing as he met Hannibal’s gaze and glimpsed the unmistakable, unrestrained, _ ravenous _ hunger there. A dizzying wave of emotion buzzed through Will’s nerves, and he thought that there must be arousal tightly laced with the panic, because that warmth was pooling in his lower belly again and he was pretty sure his cock was already half hard.

Hannibal’s nimble fingers worried the hem of his shirt; his gaze dropped to the area as if he were contemplating the material. “This shirt, I believe, is mine now,” he pointed out in a low murmur. His hands dipped beneath the material, brushed along the length of Will’s torso as he lifted it up and off of him; Will raised his arms automatically to allow the t-shirt to be stripped away and then folded them self-consciously across his bare chest. He was just barely able to bite back the whimper that tried to escape his throat when Hannibal raised the swath of cotton to his face and took in a deep breath through his nose. The contented hum that followed made Will’s cock twitch in his jeans. “Your shoes, please,” Hannibal requested as he folded the article in his hands. “Socks as well. They would count as a bundled deal, don’t you think?”

The question was rhetorical, the man drifting away unhurriedly to set the shirt down on the table with the cash. Rather than return to Will, he sauntered over to the bar and hit the power button on the radio, halting Johnny Cash in his tracks. The silence that followed was deafening, only served to better remind Will that his heartbeat was hammering in his ears. He kicked out of his ratty sneakers and peeled off his socks obediently, tucking them inside each shoe.

“You’re really going to take all my clothes?” He was proud that the question came out with a scathing bite rather than the desperate moan that threatened to spill forth.

“One should not gamble with things one is not prepared to lose, Will,” Hannibal intoned as he meandered back over to the pool table. “Though, if you pay your debt with as much bravado as I’ve seen when you collect, I may be willing to exonerate them from your payment.” Hannibal stood before Will once again, brushed his shoes under the table with one sweep of his foot. When Hannibal’s hands settled on the fly of Will’s shorts, Will couldn’t stop his own hands from shooting forward to grasp at Hannibal’s forearms to halt him. “You’re trembling, Will,” Hannibal noted, his voice sliding over Will rich and sticky as molasses. “Are you frightened?”

Will let out a shaky breath, unsure if he had stopped Hannibal’s progress because he didn’t want this to continue or because he didn’t want Hannibal face to face with the hard evidence of how much he did. “I sit on the razor sharp precipice between fear and anticipation,” Will answered honestly.

Hannibal gave a soft hum at that. “Perhaps I can tip you in the right direction,” he suggested.

Will tilted his face up to meet Hannibal’s lips when the other man bent forward. Their mouths pressed together, closed and chaste at first, but soon enough Hannibal’s lips parted, took Will’s plump lower lip between them and sucked softly, and Will’s mouth fell open with a moan. Hannibal’s fingers curled around Will’s hips as he pressed closer, deepening the kiss by taking advantage of the entrance and slipping his tongue inside. Will’s own pressed forward automatically out of curiosity, another whimper drawn from his throat at the sensation of their tongues sliding against each other.

They moved together until Will was forced to back away and take a breath, panting for air as his head swam pleasantly. Hannibal chased his retreat, placing one more soft kiss to Will’s flushed lips before tipping their foreheads together.

“Will,” Hannibal whispered, his voice awed and curious, “Was that your first kiss?”

Will wondered if he would ever be able to be in Hannibal’s presence without blushing every five minutes. “Shit,” he panted, absolutely mortified. “Was I so bad it was that easy to tell?”

Hannibal made a chiding sound and pressed another soft kiss to his mouth. “Not at all. But your responsiveness is reactionary, rather than aggressive. It feels as though you are mapping each move, collecting data. And you are extraordinarily touch starved,” he noted, running his hands up Will’s sides, spreading over his chest. When his thumb brushed across Will’s nipple, it produced a shiver and moan that only served as evidence to Hannibal’s observations. He dipped his head down and placed a wet kiss to Will’s neck, just below his ear. Will whimpered and tilted his head, entreating a repeat of that sensation. 

“It’s maddening,” he all but growled into Will’s ear, tilted his hips forward to press against Will’s, revealing the hard length trapped within the confines of his own pants as well, “in the absolute best of ways.”

This time, when Hannibal’s hand fell to his fly, Will allowed him to pop the button and part the zipper, his own numb hands travelling forward to pick apart the buttons on Hannibal’s waistcoat. His hands spasmed, clutching at the expensive wool, when Hannibal slid a hand beneath his waistline and palmed at Will’s straining cock through his boxers.

“Oh, _ God,” _ Will groaned, and Hannibal’s lips curled into a smirk against his neck.

“It seems as though you’ve landed firmly on the side of anticipation, dear Will,” Hannibal murmured as his lips trailed across Will’s skin. He settled at the base of Will’s throat and placed a sucking kiss over his pulse point, his hands shifting, gripping Will’s shorts and pushing them from his hips.

“Take these off,” Will demanded breathlessly, tugging again at Hannibal’s waistcoat. Hannibal pulled away from him to comply, leaving Will bereft of his blazing heat. He distracted himself by shoving down his boxers as well and then stepping out of the pool of fabric wrapped around his ankles and kicking it aside. 

He palmed his leaking cock as Hannibal slipped off his tie and then out of his shirt, squeezing himself at the root to ease some pressure and calm himself down when Hannibal turned towards him and revealed his bare chest, broad and tan and covered in a surprisingly tantalizing rug of silvering hair. He bit his lip, ducking his face down under Hannibal’s own scrutiny.

Hannibal was before him before he could breathe, tilting his face back up for a kiss. “Beautiful,” he murmured against Will’s mouth, and Will’s chest ached with his sincerity. His fingers were at Will’s mouth then, beckoning entrance, and Will’s lips wrapped around them instinctively, his tongue darting forward curiously to taste the salty digits. “That’s lovely, darling,” Hannibal encouraged softly, his other hand reaching down to replace Will’s in a loose grip around his shaft. Will moaned around the fingers in his mouth when Hannibal gave his cock a lazy stroke, his own trembling hands reaching forward to pet at Hannibal’s furred chest.

Will’s exploring fingers turned to claws, digging into Hannibal’s flesh when the man brushed his thumb across the wet head of Will’s cock. He brought the digit up to suck into his mouth, his eyes closing indulgently with the action. “Delectable,” Hannibal proclaimed, and then removed his dripping fingers from Will’s mouth. Will licked his lips to break the line of saliva that connected them, and then Hannibal was turning Will around and bending him over the pool table.

Will spread his legs instinctively, a shudder coursing through him as Hannibal’s wet digits rubbed against his dry, puckered hole. “Do it,” Will gasped frantically. A broken moan fell from his mouth as Hannibal obeyed and pressed in swiftly and insistently until both fingers had penetrated him. Will’s back arched at the sensation. It was uncomfortable and foreign and so intensely erotic that his hips wiggled greedily for more friction when Hannibal paused to allow him time to adjust.

Hannibal pulled his fingers back slightly and then pumped them deeper still. Will’s entire body convulsed with tremors; he could feel his curls sticking against his damp face, beads of sweat running down his spine. Hannibal leaned forward and traced his tongue along Will’s vertebrae with lazy sweeps as his hand continued to rock against Will’s entrance. His probing fingers reached deeper, crooking to stroke along Will’s inner walls until he brushed against a spot that must have been Will’s prostate, because his entire body was seized with white-hot pleasure and he couldn’t stop the wordless scream that broke from his throat. Hannibal repeated the action and then slipped a third finger inside.

He alternated thrusting and spreading his fingers, preparing Will’s virgin hole as much as circumstances would allow. Then, he leaned forward and nuzzled his nose into Will’s curls, began whispering hotly in his ear about how good he felt, how hot and tight he was going to be around Hannibal’s cock, and Will had to frantically reach for his dick and squeeze _ hard _to stop himself from coming on the spot. He didn’t want to do that until Hannibal was inside him in earnest; he needed Hannibal to feel him break apart.

“I’m ready,” he whined, squeezing his eyes shut against the frustrated tears that filled them as his orgasm was rudely quelled. “Please, I’m ready.” 

Hannibal’s chest was pressed to his back as he nipped at Will’s ear and neck, so Will could feel the growl that rumbled through him at his desperate insistence. “For your sake, I hope you’re right,” he murmured, pulling his fingers free. Will whined at the abruptly empty feeling, could feel his hole attempt to clench around an intrusion that was no longer there.

He allowed Hannibal to move him with boneless pliancy, first being turned around to face him and then being hoisted up onto the pool table behind him. Hannibal’s strong hands guided him to lay back gently so that his upper body was stretching down the length of the table, his ass hanging off the edge. Hannibal let out an amused hum and then guided Will’s legs apart until he was spread wide, knees bent, with his heels nestled into each of the corner pockets.

Will let his eyes drift shut, his arms stretched out above him. The scratch of Hannibal’s zipper sent another anxious tremor through Will, the sound of a man so put together spitting into his hand made his cock pulse and release more fluid where it rested heavily against his belly. He focused on slow, deep breaths when Hannibal’s cock pressed insistently against his hole on display, forced the muscles in his lower half to relax even as he let out a squeak of discomfort as Hannibal began to slide in. 

Hannibal shushed him, pet along his thighs soothingly as he slowly forced Will to split for him. “That’s it, sweet thing,” his thick accent encouraged warmly, and Will sobbed at the contradictory sensation of buzzing high with Hannibal’s praise and the stinging burn at his core that was impossible to ignore. “Doing so well,” he assured Will. 

He stilled in his movements and reached between them to wrap a hand around Will’s flagging erection. He spent a moment stroking Will slowly, bringing him back to hardness, until Will was bucking up into his hand as much as he could and each twist upwards was threatening to send him spilling again. Then, all at once, Hannibal slammed the rest of the way into Will, until his hips were flush with Will’s ass. Will screamed in surprise, though the flash of pain subsided quickly enough, overridden by the wholly alien sensation of being _ full. _

Will found that he quite liked feeling full.

Hannibal didn’t wait for him to adjust this time, immediately retracting his hips and then thrusting forward again and again, setting a grueling pace that Will’s poor, overtaxed mind couldn’t even keep up with. The thick heaviness of Hannibal’s cock filled every empty inch of Will, pressed against his prostate with each forward thrust in. The sound of their bare skin slapping together was only overshadowed by the near constant pleas that fell from Will’s mouth as he sobbed out broken words of encouragement. ‘Yes’ and ‘God’ were two frequent cries that drifted from him for several minutes, and then Hannibal grabbed hold of Will’s hips and tilted them just so and his cock was battering directly _ into _ Will’s prostate every other second and the only word that Will remembered how to say was ‘fuck’ (and he said it frequently).

He didn’t even realize that his hands had been scrabbling above him, clawing into the table until Hannibal reminded him to ‘mind the felt, darling’. Will moved his hands to his head and fisted his curls so tightly his scalp screamed for it.

“I’m going to come inside of you, Will,” Hannibal told him, his voice rough, rasping with the efforts of his exertion.

And that did it. Will’s back arched off of the table with the force of his orgasm and he sobbed as his cock spilled his release across his stomach and chest. His muscles continued to clench up as the buzzing pleasure spread in insistent shocks through his body. He clamped tightly around Hannibal as the last of his come leaked out and the older man groaned, stilling within him and pulsing with his own release.

Just like when Hannibal had turned off the radio, the near silence that surrounded them the following moment was almost deafening, broken only by each of them panting for breath. Will whimpered when Hannibal pulled out of him slowly, embarrassment flooding through him as he felt the tackiness of Hannibal’s release slip out as well. His feet felt raw and cramped when he pulled them from the holes where they had been; a glance down showed angry red lines that bisected the arch of his foot where he had been pressing against the edge of the pocket.

Hannibal reached down to help him sit up and then guided him to standing, his hands strong and sure upon Will’s waist until he was convinced that Will wouldn’t collapse into a puddle right on the spot. He shifted uncomfortably as gravity did its job and more come began to slip out of his abused hole. Will didn’t know what to say, so they didn’t speak as they dressed. Hannibal reached down to retrieve Will’s bottoms and handed over the jean shorts. Will didn’t argue when Hannibal folded up his boxers and slipped them into the pocket of his trousers, happy enough to get the rest of his clothing back.

Will was just beginning to wonder if Hannibal was going to say _ anything _ to him, an unwanted bolt of shame making his cheeks and eyes burn as he felt his jeans cling to his wet thighs, when Hannibal stopped before him and handed him his shirt. Will took it wordlessly, though he didn’t move to pull it on or move his gaze from where it was planted on Hannibal’s shining leather shoes. Hannibal carded a hand gently through his curls, urging Will to lift his head.

“You are a remarkable young man, Will Graham,” he told him. Will blinked furiously, willing his wet eyes to dry even as his chest swelled with bittersweet emotion. It would have been easier, Will thought, if he felt ashamed of himself for letting a stranger use his body so thoroughly, but all he could think about was that sooner rather than later, this man was going to leave Biloxi. Will didn’t want him to go.

When Hannibal dipped his head down, Will arched up to meet him. They shared one more kiss, slow and tender, and then Hannibal pulled away and strode toward the door. 

“Your money,” Will called out to him, nodding to the mess of bills that still sat on the hi-top nearby.

Hannibal cast a disinterested glance toward the table. “Keep it,” he urged Will. He stood very still for a moment, his head tilted in consideration, and then he changed direction, sauntering back over to where Will leaned against the table. “In fact, I’m going to be in Biloxi for one more night,” he paused before Will, looked as though he wanted to reach out to him. “You can come by my room tomorrow, if you’d like to earn a bit more.”

Will frowned up at him. “I’m not a whore,” he told Hannibal flatly. A small voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he was simply a slut if he didn’t get paid for it.

“I wouldn’t dream of insinuating such a thing,” Hannibal purred, shifting ever closer. “Perhaps another game; one of my own design.” He produced a business card and a pen from inside his jacket, scrawled his hotel name and room number upon the blank side and slipped it into Will’s hand. He leaned forward and brushed a kiss against Will’s temple. “It would please me greatly to spend a more substantial amount of time introducing you to carnal pleasures,” he murmured into his ear. 

Will shivered as Hannibal pulled away. “I’ll think about it,” he told him, even as his cock twitched with renewed interest and his stomach began to buzz pleasantly as the thought. 

Hannibal left him with a smile and thirteen hundred dollars.


	2. Hannibal's Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing turned into a BEAST! So I apologize for taking so long to get it out. You'll be happy to know that it's almost all porn. Enjoy!
> 
> By the way, you'll maybe notice I altered the tags to drop Hannibal's age down to 35. It works a bit better for my purposes.

Will did his best to clean himself up in the bar’s bathroom, wiping off the release drying tacky across his chest and dabbing at the mess leaking from between his legs before he walked home exhausted, sore and completely elated. He felt as though each and every one of his nerves was a live wire, buzzing insistently beneath his skin. He was so lost in thought over what had just happened that he didn’t even consider how ill-advised it would be to walk through the streets at one in the morning with thirteen hundred dollars in cash on him until he was walking up to their blessedly dark and silent trailer.

He still felt disgusting, his hair limp and plastered to his head with his sweat and his skin itching where his and Hannibal’s come had dried before he could get it cleaned. Unfortunately, at this time of night, a shower simply wasn’t an option. Instead, Will stripped out of his soiled clothing and fell into bed, hoping that his physical exhaustion would pull him swiftly into sleep.

Every time Will closed his eyes, Hannibal’s sharp and hauntingly beautiful face floated behind his lids. He had finally accepted that there was no getting around that, embraced it even, recalling the way his hands and lips felt trailing over Will’s neglected flesh, fantasizing about all the things that may await him the next evening. He finally began to drift off into sleep, hazily clinging to one particularly pathetic daydream of falling asleep in the doctor’s strong, thick arms, curled up in his bed around his second pillow as though it were a stand in for Hannibal’s hard, broad chest. He imagined fingers carding through his hair tenderly, coaxing him into sleep…

_ “Will.” _

Will jolted awake with a gasp, half-sitting up in bed as he glanced around, his heart racing. He scowled at his own reaction, wondering why in the world he possibly could have thought that Hannibal would be in his room with him. It was the cruelest of auditory hallucinations, the word, the voice, dredged up from his subconscious to buzz through his mind as though it were whispered right into his ear.

He settled back into bed with a sigh, shifting uncomfortably as his aching cock made itself known. It seemed the  _ whole _ of his body was fooled by the spector. Will let his hand drift south to tug lazily at his erection, eyes squeezed shut and thinking about thick forearms and a furred chest and whiskey soaked eyes until he came with a choked off whine. Only then did sleep finally take him.

\---

Will woke early and laid in bed as he listened to his dad putter around the trailer. He could hear the man pour himself some cereal, listened to the rhythmic crunch of him chewing in the silent trailer. He heard the usual muttered curses as he searched this area and that in an attempt to track down his keys--Will had installed a hook by the door the year before for just that reason, but Beau Graham was a creature of habit and a very stubborn man to boot, and obstinately chose to throw his keys upon whatever surface he fancied at the time of returning home.

He listened to the Ford’s engine turn over and then kicked off the solitary sheet that had twisted around his legs in the night. He was quick in the shower, his cheeks heating as he soaped up and scrubbed away the flaky patches of come still striped across his skin. He dabbed at his hole gingerly with a washcloth, hissing reflexively as the sensitive area stung with contact, even as a sudden wave of desire throbbed in his gut. He didn’t know how his battered body could possibly withstand another evening with the older man, but knew even as that thought filtered through him that he was very likely going to be paying him a visit just to find out.

Will picked up his shorts from where he’d lazily shucked them off the night before and sighed at the state of them; the wrinkles from laying on his floor in a heap all night he could deal with, but the evidence around the seat and thighs of the denim was irrefutable. The wet splotches had dried overnight, stiff and crusty, and there was no way Will could wear them again before they were laundered. He pulled the wad of cash from its pocket and chucked them into his hamper with a sigh, irritated that he was going to have to wear his full length jeans in their stead--at seven in the morning it was already 80 degrees, and the forecast was only calling for more hot and humid days. He glanced down to the floor, where a business card had fallen as he emptied the short’s pockets. He picked it up and stared at the elegant script on the back, denoting the hotel and room number where Hannibal would be waiting for him. He slid the card into his pocket.

He stashed the money in his usual spot in his closet, a perverse thrill zipping through him as he thumbed through the stack of crisp hundred dollar bills one last time, and then he pulled on a white tee and left his room. He eyed the empty milk carton on the counter despondently, contemplated frying some eggs rather than eating dry cereal. In the end, he decided to spoil himself and went back into his closet to pull out a single twenty. 

He stopped off at the gas station for a cup of coffee and a glazed donut, munching on his breakfast as he made his way back to the bar. He’d never finished his closing cleaning the night before, having left shortly after Hannibal did. He still needed to finish sweeping and mopping the floors, as well as the dishes he’d neglected for the last part of the evening. 

Will was halted in his steps almost immediately after entering the bar, his eyes inexorably drawn to the pool table shoved into the back corner. He had not counted on the stinging ache of arousal that split through him at the sight of it. He approached it slowly, his hole somehow feeling all the more tender at the visual reminder. He stood where Hannibal had stood and ran a reverent hand along the edge of the table, closed his eyes and breathed deep. If there were any lingering traces of scent, Will could not detect them. He was glad, at least, to see that they hadn’t left a mess, beyond the one chair that had been removed from its table and never replaced. Will drifted around the perimeter of the table, reached forward to smooth a hand across the middle. It looked as though he’d not done any damage to the felt, either, which surprised Will as memories of him desperately scrabbling and clawing at the surface above his head as he was fucked into oblivion flooded his mind.

“Fuck,” Will told the empty room.

He returned the chair to its rightful place atop the table and then strode over to the bar, reaching down to dig out the telephone book that they kept on the shelf beneath the phone and flipping it open to the business section. He dialled the number for the Hyatt and told the cheerful woman at the front desk that he would like to be connected to Room 319.

“Hello?” His voice was low and smooth as ever, obvious that he had not been roused by the early call. 

Will realized suddenly that he had not thought through this conversation in the least. The painful silence of dead air stretched between them for a solid five seconds before Will responded, “Hi.” 

He contemplated adding something like ‘it’s me’, but it seemed as though it were unnecessary, because Hannibal immediately followed up with an amused and fond, “Good Morning, Will.”

“Mornin’,” Will greeted again, because it was easier to be polite than spit out what he wanted to say next. “Sorry to call so early. I just wanted to tell you that I’m, uh, I’m thinking of coming by tonight. So…” he drifted off lamely, wincing at his own awkwardness.

Hannibal ended his painful floundering with a pleased hum. “I’m glad to hear it. If you would like to have dinner with me, I would be ready for you as early as seven.”

Will’s stomach flipped at the suggestion. It was one thing to invite him to his room to fuck him silly, but offering to feed him first just made it feel...intimate. “My, uh, my dad will be expecting me to have dinner with him,” he explained, added a hurried, “Thanks,” to keep up his niceties like a Good Southern Boy.

Hannibal didn’t seem phased in the least at his refusal. “Eight, then,” he amended, and because Will was very certain that it wasn’t a suggestion, he agreed immediately and bid him goodbye.

\---

After their modest meal of catfish and rice, Will disappeared into the bathroom to brush his teeth and take another shower to wash away the sweat of the day. Suddenly self-conscious of himself, knowing how the night was sure to progress, Will attempted to breach himself with a finger to ensure that he was adequately prepared for the events to follow. He was only able to slip in to his first knuckle before his muscles spasmed and he seized up, halting any further progress. He removed his finger, let himself go pliant under the steaming water, and then took measured breaths as he attempted again to much the same effect. In the end, he abandoned the idea, comforting himself with the fact that Hannibal had been less than concerned with the state of his cleanliness the previous evening.

He spent a ridiculous amount of time sifting through his closet, considering the sparse collection he had to choose from. In the end, he settled on his dark grey trousers, which were, blessedly, still an appropriate length considering he hadn’t worn them since his grandfather’s funeral the year prior, and one of the button-down shirts he reserved for the rare occurence of his father actually insisting they go to church (this happened twice a year like clockwork, with the Grahams dutifully attending service every Easter and Christmas Eve). He first pulled on his white shirt, but halfway to getting it buttoned up decided that it looked too intentionally virginal and wholesome and shrugged out of it once more. He opted for a button-down of azure instead, pleased with the way that it complemented his skin tone and brought out the stark blue of his eyes. When the notion that Hannibal might like that flitted through his mind, Will quashed the musing violently.

The entire time Will was preparing for his evening out, he was also running through various scenarios and conversations with his old man about what he was up to that evening. After all, Will was freshly washed and dressed for a church service that he most assuredly wasn’t going to, nor could he convince his father otherwise. He had finally settled on a fib about going out to see a girl--he could always tell his dad they didn’t get along as expected if he ever questioned the evening in the future, after all. He took a breath and strode out of his room.

Beau Graham barely cast him a glance before turning back to the television. “Off to the Wreck, Willy?” he asked, though his tone was less than inquiring. The low level of amber liquid that resided in the tumbler in his grasp, resting laxly on the arm of the chair, indicated that that his pa was at least one drink in so far.

Will may or may not have told him that the Wreck was closed for the next two days for Mel’s trip. Regardless, Beau didn’t know or care, so Will allowed him to remain that way. “Yup. Probably be back late. I’ll be quiet, gettin’ in,” he assured his old man, who grunted appreciatively at the offer. Will left without another word.

He walked a few blocks from the trailer park to one of the main roads and flagged down a cab, unwilling to become a sweaty mess walking to the outer edge of the city where Hannibal’s hotel was and paranoid about what smells might cling to him if he took the city bus. It was ten minutes to eight when the cab dropped him in front of the nicest hotel in Biloxi and sped away. Will’s stomach was suddenly in knots., his mind racing through every reason that this was a very poor idea that could end  _ very _ badly for Will. He could wake up in a tub of ice missing a kidney, for all he knew. He could walk into an ambush and be expected to entertain an entire group of men, instead of just Hannibal. He could be tortured. Killed.

He was already half-hard in his pants, forced to adjust himself as discreetly as possible on the sidewalk before he straightened his spine and strode into the building. The blast of coolness from entering the air-conditioned lobby was grounding, further cementing Will’s confidence into something that was less than false bravado. He ignored the front desk completely, striding past it with purpose as though he had a perfectly legitimate reason for being there and turned the corner to follow the signs pointing the way to the elevators.

He fidgeted constantly during the brief ride up to the third floor, brushing away non-existent wrinkles and lint, picking at his thumbnail idly. When the doors opened again, he found himself staring in surprise at his own anxious expression in the great mirror hanging opposite the elevators. He released the lip he’d been chewing at and frowned at the deep red of his bruised mouth. Too soon, he was standing at the door to Room 319, taking one more steadying breath before raising his fist to knock.

He didn’t have any more time to be nervous, because Hannibal opened the door not thirty seconds later and invited him in with a warm smile. He was wearing another three-piece suit, a dramatic black and red windowpane pattern, though he had already removed his jacket to reveal the stark white shirt beneath. His ashen hair, which had been shaped and molded flawlessly the night previous, swept almost casually across his forehead. It looked soft and inviting, and Will’s fingers itched with the urge to reach out and touch. 

“Good evening, Will,” he greeted, and Will had to grit his teeth against the thrill that zipped down his spine. How he could be so affected by someone simply saying his name, Will didn’t know. 

“Good evening,” he murmured; he was pleased and relieved to find that the words came out sounding far more coy than shy. His breath caught in his chest, a lump forming in his throat instantaneously as Hannibal’s large hands found his waist, slipped to his hips as he stepped into the room.

Will froze as Hannibal’s warm and solid form molded against his back, his lips brushing along the shell of Will’s ear. “You look absolutely lovely, darling,” he purred, low and hot into Will’s ear. 

Will couldn’t help it--he melted back against the man behind him with a sigh. Hannibal’s hands slid forward, firm and confident, to settle low upon Will’s belly. “I must admit that I have thought of little else than this today,” he murmured into the sensitive skin of Will’s neck as he dipped his head and trailed soft lips along Will’s flesh.

He couldn’t hope to stop the whimper that squeaked from his throat as he tilted his head to allow Hannibal greater access to him. Desire throbbed low in his gut, his every nerve buzzing as he came to realize that there would be no pussyfooting around, no pretense that this was anything other than what it was. 

_ “God,  _ me too,” he moaned honestly; he couldn’t even bring himself to be ashamed about it--Hannibal was acting as if this entire situation were perfectly ordinary, as if he always went around strange cities deflowering fifteen year old boys and paying them a ridiculous sum of money for the pleasure. Perhaps he did. 

He reached back blindly with his hands, searching out the solid edges that framed him. “There was talk of a game of some sort,” he prompted, arching back into the body behind him; his stomach gave a flip when he felt the evidence of Hannibal’s interest pressed insistently against his ass.

Hannibal gave a soft hum in response, his lips trailing lazy and wet down the column of Will’s neck. “Would you like some wine?”

Will tried not to be embarrassed about the groan that cracked his words as one of Hannibal’s hands slid lower down his front until it settled firmly over the erection straining against his slacks. “No--nngh--thank you,” he breathed. His hips began to rock before he even realized he was moving, alternately rolling up into the pressure of the hand upon him and back into the stiff length behind him. “I don’t drink very often. Yesterday was an anomaly.” He let his head tip back to rest against Hannibal’s chest, eyes squeezed shut and his mouth seeking upwards. “Tell me your game.”

“It’s quite simple,” Hannibal murmured. 

His low tone rumbled through his chest, into Will’s back where he was pressed against him; his hot breath ghosted over Will’s mouth, so close that he was fairly certain he could raise his height upon his tiptoes and close the space between them. Will remained just as he was, let Hannibal remain tantalizingly close and frustratingly distant; every inch of his skin sparked with desire and anticipation, a steady heat building in his belly as he realized that if this was where they were after he’d  _ just arrived,  _ where could they possibly be in an hour, two?

“The game only lasts as long as you desire. You decide the time limit; you may stay up until I must check out at eleven tomorrow morning. From this moment, up until you decide that our game is finished, you will put that clever mind and sinfully delicious body to use. Every time I reach completion, you win one hundred dollars.” He made his way back up Will’s throat, teeth catching and tugging gently upon Will’s earlobe. “Every time  _ you _ reach completion...you win one hundred dollars.”

A groan cracked out of Will’s throat--so dry that he was already rethinking refusing a drink--and his hips bucked up more insistently into the cup of Hannibal’s warm hand. “Sounds like everyone’s a winner,” he sighed. It was, when you boiled it down, sex for money. Despite his insistence about not being a whore the night previous, Will couldn’t make himself care.

Hannibal’s low chuckle made him shiver. “As you say.”

Will couldn’t wait another moment. He spun around in Hannibal’s loose grasp, reached his hands up to snag into soft, ashen hair and held tight as he lunged upwards to connect their mouths. 

The previous evening, Hannibal’s kisses had been unhurried, passionate but tender. Now, Hannibal matched Will’s fervent desperation, took nourishment from the bruising kiss and whipping tongue and fed it back to him three-fold. His grip tightened upon Will’s hips, digging in until Will could feel the sting of his perfectly manicured nails even through the fabric of his pants. Will only groaned and pressed closer against him. The thought of him leaving his mark upon Will’s body had his cock throbbing, dangerously close to release. One hundred dollars or not, Will didn’t exactly care to ruin his only pair of pants, knowing he’d have to wear them home the following morning. 

He broke the kiss with a gasp, forced his hips to cease their grinding against Hannibal’s and part. He released his grip upon Hannibal’s locks, moving down to work at the buttons on his waistcoat with numb fingers trembling with desire and adrenaline. “Why don’t we get out of these clothes and let the games begin?” he suggested demurely, privately amazed that he was able to form words with his lips and tongue at all, let alone coherent and  _ desirable _ ones.

Hannibal didn’t deign to answer him verbally, only shifted his own hands upwards to begin upon the buttons on Will’s dress shirt. His own fingers moved much more swiftly and confidently than Will’s; his shirt was opened and hanging loosely upon his shoulders before Will had even moved up to begin tugging at the tie around Hannibal’s throat. 

Hannibal didn’t help him. He pushed the fabric from Will’s shoulders, which fell smoothly down until it hung at his elbows as his hands continued to work at the silk halting Will’s progress. His wide hands spread across Will’s pecs and then smoothed down his torso, brushing down the fine line of hair from his belly to his pelvis as his fingers settled upon Will’s fly. They didn’t speak again. There were no sounds save the rustling of fabric and their wet, panting breaths.

Will finally loosened the strip of silk enough to tug it up and over Hannibal’s head, dropped it to the floor along with his own shirt as he lowered his arms. Once that was out of the way, Will was able to work his way down the buttons of Hannibal’s shirt with surprising efficiency until it hung open for him and Will was able to push it off of the man’s broad shoulders. The next logical destination would be Hannibal’s belt, but Will couldn’t stop his fingers from stroking over the thick pelt of hair that covered the doctor’s hard chest. He let his fingertips pet through it, dipped his head to place a wet kiss against Hannibal’s collarbone, and then, without even thinking about it, pulled his lips back to let his teeth drag across the delicate curve of bone. Hannibal’s moan rumbled into him, the man’s own fingers working frantically at Will’s fly until it was free and he was shoving Will’s pants and boxers both from his slim hips.

Will almost expected Hannibal’s hand to encircle him, to stroke slow and teasing as Will saw to the rest of his task of baring Hannibal’s flesh--but he didn’t. Instead, he allowed Will’s fingers to continue their exploration of his chest and saw to his own pants, pushing them down and away before too long, and then pressing forward until their aching erections were trapped between their trembling bodies. Only then did Hannibal’s fingers reach up to tangle into Will’s curls, pull his face up to lock their mouths together once more.

Will choked on a sigh as their lips slotted together, his entire body buzzing as he undulated shamelessly against the other man like a cat in heat. Their hands stroked against every inch of bare flesh in reach, their tongues tangling together until oxygen became a greater necessity than proximity and they were forced to break apart for a quivering breath.

“I want to suck you,” Will informed Hannibal breathless. It was an interesting need that consumed him, because he had never performed such an act. He only knew that he needed to. “Please--” he began, lost his words as Hannibal stole his voice in another desperate kiss.

When they broke apart again, Hannibal took Will’s hands in his own and wordlessly guided him to trail along. He moved over to the armchair in the corner, which sat tilted out to face the bed and the rest of the room, and dropped the throw pillow that rested there to the ground before settling into the seat with his legs splayed wide and open. Will settled to the ground on his knees between them with a small appreciative sound as he sank into the plush of the pillow, resting his hands upon Hannibal’s knees and then slowly gliding them up his thighs and back down again. He let one hand settle upon Hannibal’s inner thigh, the other moving up to grip his shaft and gently pull back his foreskin; he wet his lips and leaned forward, pressing his tongue out shyly to swipe over Hannibal’s cockhead, to test the fluid that he found there.

The taste was acidic and bitter, but surprisingly not unpleasant. Hannibal’s soft sigh set Will’s nerves buzzing, encouraged him along. He repeated the action, and then let his lips wrap around the tip to give an experimental suck. He flinched in surprise when one of Hannibal’s hands reached forward to thread through his curls, relaxed when it became apparent that the gesture was not intended to push him along quicker; he simply stroked the tips of his fingers lightly over Will’s scalp, producing a tingling thrill that built at the base of his skull and then shivered down his spine without his consent. Will attempted to mask the reaction by pressing forward to sink lower, take the bulk of Hannibal’s length into his mouth in one.

He was heavy against Will’s tongue, thick enough in girth that a dull ache was already beginning to throb in the hinge of Will’s jaw. He pulled back up, pressing his tongue forward to drag along the underside of Hannibal’s cock as he went. He couldn’t help but think about how all of this had been buried deep within him just the night before, how his hole had parted to take in greedily what Will’s mouth struggled to consume. Desire twisted molten hot low in his gut at the memory, and Will sank down again with a moan, unthinking, taking too much too deeply until the back of his throat was spasming involuntarily and Will had to pull away with a gagging cough.

He could feel the telltale burn of embarrassment and frustration flaming across his cheeks, but before he even had a chance to get upset over his obvious inexperience, he registered the low moan that rumbled from Hannibal’s chest. Will chanced a glance up, found the man’s head tilted back, eyes closed and lips parted in bliss; the one hand that wasn’t caught in Will’s hair was gripping the arm of the chair so tightly his knuckles were whitening. Will caught his breath, wet his lips again, and then sank down once more. 

He let saliva collect in his mouth, parted his lips for it to drip down the length of the man to slicken him further. He didn’t sink down so far as to choke himself again, but bobbed down and off of the length that he could manage enthusiastically while his hand worked the lower part of the shaft. He fell into a steady rhythm in his work, matching the way Hannibal’s hips rolled up into the heat of his mouth, seeking more connection but ever respectful not to push too far. 

He had worried that it might feel like work, might feel debased to have his mouth used in such a way but, surprisingly enough, Will found that he enjoyed the task. He enjoyed finding new ways to twirl his tongue along and around the thickness in his mouth, felt his own cock twitch with desire each time he was rewarded with another bead of salty fluid dripping onto his tongue. He especially enjoyed Hannibal’s sounds, the soft panting of his breath as Will worked his shaft and the occasional groans when Will thought to try something new. 

When he wrapped his lips around the head to suck once more and finally dropped his hand lower to fondle hesitantly at Hannibal’s heavy sack, the man gave another groan and tightened his grip in Will’s curls, holding him in place as the cock between his lips pulsed his release into his mouth. Will froze completely, unsure how exactly to proceed, knowing how terribly sensitive his own cock becomes when he orgasms. He let the viscous, bitter fluid collect on his tongue until Hannibal released him enough to pull away, and then swallowed it in one. He gagged when the come reached the back of his throat and slid down, though he managed to get it down and keep it there all the same. 

He didn’t even realize that there were tears hanging at the edges of his eyes until he glanced up to the man above him and they slipped free to trail down his cheeks. Hannibal rewarded him with a soft smile, petting softly through his curls one more time and then dropping his hand to wipe at the wetness on Will’s face. “Magnificent,” he murmured, and Will’s chest swelled with pride, wagered that it must be so, if Hannibal declared it. He stroked a thumb over Will’s cheek one more time and then pulled away completely. “Go to the bed, please. On your hands and knees, facing the headboard.”

Will rose on quivering knees and had to wonder at just how long he’d been kneeling before Hannibal. His own cock ached with need, red and swollen and leaking a mess against his belly. He longed to reach down and stroke it, relieve some of the tension, so aroused that he was sure that but a few cursory strokes would be enough to get him off--but Hannibal hadn’t asked him to do that. Instead, he did as he was bid and climbed onto the bed, settling onto his hands and knees with his legs parted wide. He felt his breath come quicker as the bed dipped behind him, remembering the way it felt when Hannibal had pressed insistently against his hole the night before, the way eased only with a bit of saliva. He expected more of the same, or at least, maybe the pointed pressure of one or two of Hannibal’s fingers breaching that first tight ring of muscle to slide into him.

He didn’t expect warm, moist breath across his sensitive skin, nor the soft, wet glide of tongue that followed it, running a slow stripe beginning behind Will’s balls and working up over his twitching hole. 

“Oh,  _ fuck,” _ Will moaned, his breathless voice catching on the second word to drag it out. “Oh, God, that’s--”

Hannibal hummed against his flesh--the most intimate part of him--and Will shuddered and canted his hips back, greedy for more of that sensation. He’d imagined being with men and women both as he jerked himself to completion in his bed or, those times when he didn’t have the convenience of his own room, in the privacy of the shower; he’d never imagined that someone would perform this act on him, never considered that it would feel so filthily and decadently  _ good. _ Will’s whines and twitches didn’t seem to deter Hannibal, nor, frustratingly enough, spur him on; the man continued on with his task at his own pace, lapping and twirling and sucking, alternating frequently so that Will never knew what to expect from one moment to the next. He could only shudder, grip the duvet beneath him and rock back into the wet heat. The moment he moved one of his hands, intent upon grasping his throbbing cock, Hannibal pulled back slightly and murmured against his skin.

“Do you think you can achieve an orgasm just from this, Will?” Hannibal asked, stiffened his tongue to a point to just barely breach the ring of muscle of Will’s hole before pulling back again. “I’ll double your payment, if you do.”

That statement alone was enough to make Will’s cock twitch again, enough to urge forward more fluid to leak from his slit to drip slowly to the mattress beneath him. “Oh,  _ Jesus,”  _ he groaned, replaced his hand deliberately back to the mattress and took a deep breath, urging his muscles, specifically those in his lower half, to relax as he exhaled. “Okay,” he breathed in agreement, and the word had scarcely left his mouth before Hannibal’s was on him again.

He twirled his tongue teasingly around Will’s rim, moving around it again and again in increasingly tighter circles until he was merely wiggling the tip of his tongue over the center of his hole. Will shuddered, hands tightening in the sheets beneath him as he resisted the urge to touch himself. In all truthfulness, he could care less about being offered an extra hundred dollars for this orgasm--he had walked away with thirteen hundred the night before, at least, and would likely earn another several hundred more before the sun rose--but Hannibal’s offer felt more like a challenge than anything; one which Will was desperate to rise to. So he grit his teeth and kept boths hands planted to the bed, and did nothing more to chase his release but rock back into the welcoming warmth of Hannibal’s mouth.

He couldn't even begin to imagine how much time passed that way, with Hannibal lapping and sucking at his hole and Will quivering so violently he could scarcely keep himself propped up. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, really, but it felt like an eternity before Hannibal’s tongue slipped into him, farther than it ever had before, and began to wiggle about before Will finally seized up and came, his cock throbbing as it hung heavy between his legs and pulsed his seed across the feather-down comforter beneath him.

“Very good, Will,” Hannibal purred behind him, his lips brushing against one of Will’s cheeks as he spoke, which only serve to make his cock pulse out one more pitiful release.

“Christ, that was--nngh,” Will whimpered and trembled, his limbs beginning to buckle beneath him. He was just about to give in to gravity and crumple to the bed beneath him when Hannibal’s hands caught his hips firmly.

“We’re not done yet, darling,” Hannibal informed him; Will could hear the wry smirk that twisted his lips.

He moaned when he felt the thick, unyielding pressure of Hannibal’s cock at his entrance, forced himself to steady his breathing and locked his buckling limbs into a frigid stance. He couldn’t sink down to rest yet, not now that Hannibal was ready to enter him again. Will had been thinking about it since the night before, thinking about being split apart on the older man’s dick and fucked into oblivion.

When Hannibal pressed into him, the going was much easier than the night previous. Will had been prepared more thoroughly, certainly, but he also felt the telling slickness of lubricant, wondered when Hannibal had had time to retrieve it, how Will hadn’t noticed--

He stopped caring the moment Hannibal breached him, sliding forward in one smooth thrust until Hannibal’s hips were pressed flush against Will’s ass. And oh, sweet Jesus, it felt even better than the first time. He was still tense around the intrusion, but it wasn’t nearly as foreign as it was the night before, and Will found himself adjusting to the presence within him much quicker the second time around. When Hannibal pulled back and then pushed forward slowly once again, Will let out a sobbing moan and pushed back to meet him.

“More, faster,” he requested breathlessly.  _ “Please,”  _ he sobbed.

Hannibal’s hands wrapped tighter around his hips, hitched them up and-- _ Oh,  _ oh, that must be Will’s prostate that his cock began hammering against, because bursts of white began to flash behind his eyes and violent tremors shuddered through his body, and then Will was sobbing in earnest, completely overstimulated and desperate for more. Every thrust in left Will choking, breathless, his entire body stiffening as though it wished to pull away from the source of it’s torment, though Will stayed obstinately, obediently still. It was somehow too much and not enough all at once, his cock already thickening again and God Bless his youthful refractory period for it, because if it weren’t for the prospect of another imminent orgasm, Will may very well have had to stop things altogether.

As it was, Hannibal pistoned smoothly in and out of him without a thought for Will’s comfort; just another turn on, in truth--the thought of being just a thing for this experienced man to use. He slammed into Will until he was able to block out the overwhelming sensations and thrust back on his own enthusiastically. And then, without warning, Hannibal’s hand slipped into Will’s curls once again, this time tightened forcefully and yanked him up off of the mattress.

Will was helpless but to follow the motion, crying out as the sting in his scalp invaded the throbbing fullness that pulsed within his depths. His spine arched back, guided by Hannibal’s hand in his hair, until he was fully raised upon his knees. His arms flailed as they were ripped from the bed, and his hands reached back instinctively, still seeking something to grasp onto as he was fucked open mercilessly. One hand found Hannibal’s, still gripping at his hip, and their fingers laced together as though the merging of their flesh was inevitable. His other groped up higher, reaching back until he caught a fistful of Hannibal’s own soft locks and clenched tightly, harshly as he dared, yanking forward to further erase the distance between their torsos until they were pressed flush together and Will was rocking down and back as Hannibal thrust forward and up into him.

Hannibal’s grip tightened, Will’s scalp screaming and his hips stinging as his blunt nails left shallow crescent-shaped slices along his flesh, and then Will was gasping and sobbing with another orgasm, coming untouched once again with a full-bodied shudder. Hannibal’s grip left him completely for the span of a second, and then both of his arms were wrapped around Will’s torso, holding him tightly against him as Hannibal’s hips stuttered and ceased their movement. Will could feel the pulsing of his cock as he orgasmed within him, imagined he could feel Hannibal’s release painting him from the inside out. He didn’t know he was sobbing for a solid breath until Hannibal’s broad hands were stroking tenderly along his torso, his low, thick voice whispering soothing shushes against his temple.

One hand settled over Will’s heart, the other wrapped around his middle, and Hannibal took a few minutes to urge Will to copy the deep, steady breaths that filled his own chest. After a moment, Will caught on and struggled to match him, willed his heart to cease its rabbiting and slow to something more steady and sure, just like Hannibal’s unfaltering beat behind him. Will whimpered when Hannibal pulled out of him, another shudder ripping through him at the sudden emptiness and sensation of slick come slipping out of his body.

Hannibal was guiding Will down to the mattress before he knew it was happening, pulling back the soiled duvet to slip into the clean sheets. He did not release Will from his position against his chest, merely turned them on their sides and wrapped his body around Will’s. Will breathed out a sigh as lips caressed his neck, his heavy eyes fluttering in vain to stay open.

“You come apart so magnificently, darling boy,” Hannibal murmured against his skin. Will gave a weak hum and pressed back into the older man’s solid heat. “I do look forward to seeing all the ways I can ruin you.”

“You’ve got a lot of work to do in the next eight hours, then,” Will rasped; his throat felt raw and he had to wonder just how loudly he had been yelling. He wondered if they had any neighbors in the rooms next to them, if they were annoyed by the inconsiderate noise. “I need to leave by five to get home before my dad wakes up. Just...just gimme five minutes. Just...I just need to catch my breath.”

His eyes slipped closed then, and all Will could concentrate on was the warm breath on his neck and the strong arms that twined around his torso protectively. If Hannibal responded to him, he didn’t hear it.

\---

It was hard to tell if he shifted in his sleep or if Hannibal guided him so, but when Will awoke, he was lying on his back. The panicked awareness of one waking when they hadn’t meant to sleep at all shocked through him and Will jerked with a start, moved to sit up. Hannibal made a soft noise of reassurance and held him down, his mouth never leaving the lazy exploration of Will’s chest.

“How long was I asleep?” Will asked groggily. He glanced around but the curtains were closed tight, the glare of the digital clock by the bedside too bright to read with his sleep-hazed eyes. He was certain he’d never forgive himself if he’d slept through until morning.

“Not long,” Hannibal assured him with a murmur against his skin. His tongue darted out to flick over one of Will’s nipples and let out an appreciative rumble when Will gasped and arched up toward him. “No more than an hour.” 

Hannibal’s fingers skimmed down his ribs with deliberate slowness, as though he was checking to make sure all were present and accounted for. The closer he drew to Will’s soft belly, the more Will became aware that his cock was already hard, resting heavily against his belly and leaking copiously. He wondered if that happened naturally in his sleep or if Hannibal had something to do with it. The thought of the man touching Will as he slumbered, unaware and pliant--vulnerable--made his cock throb with desire. He felt almost delirious with arousal, his chest already working for breath in short pants as Hannibal continued to touch him.

“Do you trust me, Will?” 

An innocuous question, though Will knew it was less than innocent. Nor was the man above him.

“I don’t even know you.” Will answered honestly. “I have no reason to trust you.”

Hannibal paused in his progress, pressed a kiss just above Will’s belly button and then tilted his head up to look at him. He was so close to his aching cock; Will could feel the heat of him, radiating out to tease him with nearness. He had half a mind to buck his hips up to eliminate the space between them.

“But you do,” Hannibal pointed out; his gaze bore into Will, made his mouth go dry, made it easy to ignore the irritating semi-smirk that quirked one side of Hannibal’s lips. Self-assured, smug prick.

“Yes,” Will admitted on a breath. Because he did, even though he didn’t know Hannibal, nor have any reason to trust him. Because he must, if he had decided to come to this room and put his welfare, his body, his  _ life,  _ into the hands of this stranger.

Hannibal’s answering grin made Will’s belly flutter. “Excellent,” he purred. He shifted away then, going to his knees on the mattress and reaching behind him for something. 

Will couldn’t help his frown at losing Hannibal’s heat. When he turned back to Will, he had several colorful strips of cloth in his hands--ties, Will realized belatedly. His heart began to hammer, his cock throbbing with aching need once more as he realized what was happening. When Hannibal instructed him to raise his knees, Will obeyed without thought. He guided Will’s lower leg until his heel sat flush against his thigh, and then he took one of the ties and laced it effortlessly around Will’s thigh and ankle.

“If I had you in my bed,” Hannibal mused as he worked, “in Baltimore,” he clarified, giving the bound limb a testing tug before nodding and moving on to the other leg, “I would be able to do this properly. Each limb tethered to the corners of my four-poster, your body splayed and open for me…” He glanced up at Will with a wolfish grin, tugging on the second binding until he was satisfied with the result. “I would be able to truly take my time with you. Bring you quaking and sobbing to completion beneath me again and again for hours. Your hands, please,” he requested politely.

Will unfolded the arms that he had tucked beneath him to prop up his head, letting them extend to rest on the mattress at his sides. It was too tiring to hold his head up without them, his body resting just south of the pillows at the head of the bed, so Will let his head drop back and stared unseeing at the ceiling as he followed Hannibal’s movements in his mind. He plucked up Will’s left hand, almost tender in his movements, and slipped the loop of the tie around his wrist, tightening it until it sat snugly around him. His hand was then guided closer to his thigh, the long, loose tail of the fabric slipped through and knotted to the tie binding his leg.

“As it is,” Hannibal continued as he moved over to give the same treatment to Will’s right wrist, “I’m afraid this evening I shall have to abridge my efforts. I don’t believe it will be any less enjoyable, however,” he assured Will. “For either of us.”

He pulled away when he finished and Will tugged with his limbs experimentally. There was no give whatsoever with his legs; the only action he could take was to draw them together. He left them splayed open, left himself exposed. There was a little more leeway with his wrists, though only by the two or three inches of slack the ties afforded him. It was just enough to twist his wrists to wrap the tether once around his palms, to give him something to grasp at.

Hannibal shifted on the bed, his face appearing in Will’s line of vision. The hunger in his eyes, the naked satisfaction, made Will moan, his breaths coming even shorter as his anticipation swirled and spiked in his gut. “Comfortable, darling?” Hannibal asked him. It was a genuine question, even though the man must have been confident in his abilities to bind his captive just firmly enough to be effective without the risk of cutting off circulation. Will nodded wordlessly, because he was so aroused and eager and terrified he could scarcely think of anything with which to respond.

He disappeared from view, then, the mattress dipping around Will as Hannibal shifted again to settle between his open legs. “You just relax, Will, and let me take care of you,” he urged softly. Will couldn’t hope to stop the shiver that rippled through him as Hannibal’s hands petted lightly over his inner thighs.

“Okay,” Will whispered, because what else could he do?

His eyes slipped shut at the first contact with his leaking cock--Hannibal wrapped a hand around it, neither firmly nor loosely. He didn’t squeeze or stroke, merely held the shaft in his palm as though he were testing the weight of it. Will moaned when his thumb finally moved to brush across the tip, gliding easily through the fluid that leaked there. He moved the digit in light, unhurried circles around his head before it ceased all movement and rested just over Will’s slit.

Will urged his heart to calm itself, focused on taking slow, deep breaths. He fought the desire to buck his hips up into Hannibal’s grip, because he knew that if he were tied down properly--the way that Hannibal wanted--he wouldn’t be able to move in such a way. He willed his mouth to generate saliva to wet his dry and raspy throat and let his knees fall apart even further with a sigh as Hannibal’s warm breath ghosted over his genitals.

He didn’t stimulate Will’s cock any further, but he  _ did _ dip his head down and open his mouth, slowly slid his tongue over Will’s ballsack with wide, wet laps. Will groaned at the sensation and had to remind himself again not to move when his hips gave an involuntary, instinctive jerk upwards at the contact. Hannibal’s tongue stroked across every inch of him, dipping down to graze teasingly against his perineum, which only served to make his hole spasm as he recalled how good Hannibal’s earlier ministrations felt. When his mouth wrapped around one testicle and sucked softly, Will shouted a curse and gripped the ties around his wrists tighter, tugging at them fruitlessly, just to have something to do.

“Jesus _ \--fuck,  _ Hannibal, that feels...Oh, fuck, do it again,  _ please.”  _ He hardly even realized he was babbling, whimpering for more of the same. He cried out when Hannibal repeated the action on his other testicle, and then proceed to tongue at them both, rolling them around in his sack like they were a pair of baoding balls for him to twist dexterously and idly between his fingers. He’d fondled his balls before, grasping and tugging at them gently or firmly as he jerked himself off, but the wet heat, the slide of Hannibal’s tongue, the thrill of someone’s mouth taking control of such a vulnerable area, was something for which Will could never have prepared himself.

He was so overcome by Hannibal’s ministrations that he scarcely even recalled that his dick wasn’t receiving any attention--he was promptly reminded when Hannibal’s grip released him and a whine slipped out of Will’s throat. Less than a second later, his breath caught in his chest as Hannibal’s tongue ascended swiftly to swipe a hot, wet line up the underside of Will’s shaft. The hand returned to him, angling him up, away from his belly, and a shudder spilled, warm and tingling, down Will’s spine as Hannibal’s hot breath ghosted across him.

The first lick to his cockhead was light, inquisitive--much as Will’s had been when their positions were reversed. Hannibal hummed out a pleased sound and repeated the action even slower. “You taste divine, Will,” he purred lowly, and then wrapped his lips fully around his head to give another soft suck. Will’s cock throbbed as more blood yet rushed to the area--he didn’t think he’d ever been so hard in his life. Hannibal made another noise of appreciation, pulling his mouth away just enough so that he could speak; his lips still brushed against Will’s cock with every word. “I can feel the flow of your blood pounding beneath my fingertips,” he informed Will, finally squeezing his hand just a bit tighter and moving it up and down in one slow, deliberate stroke. “I can smell your arousal, building tight and hot at your core.” He gave another soft suckle to Will’s head with another appreciative hum. “It’s intoxicating.”

“You feel amazing,” Will gasped, his eyes squeezed closed and head tilted back. He felt every muscle in his body contracting with desperate anticipation, felt like a guitar string being twisted and tuned tighter and tighter until a violent  _ snap _ was inevitable. “This feels amazing,” he moaned. “Please suck me, please.”

Hannibal’s chuckle was soft, amused and cruel. “We’ll get there, darling. No need to rush.”

Will broke his self-imposed restraint and bucked his hips up greedily, impatient. Hannibal gave a soft  _ tsk _ and pulled away, his hand slinking down to the base of Will’s shaft and squeezing mercilessly to hold back his release. Will was vaguely aware that a cry of ‘no’ was spilling from his throat, didn’t care.

“Such a greedy boy,” Hannibal chided, though his words held no real weight or disapproval. “I suppose I’ve only myself to blame. Perhaps I should refrain from sullying your innocence any further.” Will’s desperate whine pulled a low chuckle from the man between his legs. “Perhaps we can make a bargain. I’m not entirely cruel, after all. What is my touch worth to you, Will?” Hannibal released him entirely, moving his hands to ghost over the flesh of Will’s thighs. He could feel him there, the heat of his hands simmering just out of reach. “Will you answer my questions?”

Despite having already orgasmed multiple times, Will was so desperate to find release at Hannibal’s mouth that he probably would have agreed to anything. He didn’t even realize he was nodding frantically until his lips moved to join his assent. “Yes. Yes.”

“Why were you in that bar, Will?”

“Money,” Will replied automatically. He gave a soft yelp and jerked as Hannibal gave a sharp nip to the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh.

“I expect a more detailed answer than that, dear Will, if you wish to receive something in return,” Hannibal instructed curtly, though he did touch Will; he let his hands fall to rest upon his knees, his fingers tracing idle circles around them.

Will licked his lips and swallowed, attempting to wet his dry mouth and throat. He could spend hours explaining to Hannibal the controlled chaos of his fucked up childhood, but in the end settled for the short version. “Dad’s work is flagging. He’s drinking away our savings. I don’t want to leave Biloxi.”

Hannibal gave a soft hum and rewarded him with fingers skimming down his leg, closer and closer to his aching cock; Will shivered at the teasing touch. “Do you move around a lot, Will?”

“Since I was five. Dad’s a boat mechanic, so we go where the work is. No place seems to have consistent work for long. Biloxi is the longest--I like Biloxi.”

Will’s heart stuttered when a soft  _ click _ broke the silence following his explanation--the bottle of lube opening. He didn’t argue when Hannibal’s other hand left him, knew that the interruption would be worth it. “And your mother?”

He’d sensed the question coming, expected it, eventually, but that didn’t stop his stomach from giving a sick twist at the reminder, nor soothe the lump that lodged itself in his throat. He swallowed around it, wincing at the sting and grit out, “Don’t know her. Don’t care to.”

Hannibal didn’t follow that line of inquiry any further, instead gentled the hollow ache that sat cavernous in Will’s chest with a soft, sympathetic noise and a slick finger against his hole. He gifted Will with a different subject entirely as his finger looped soft circles over his entrance, which twitched and spasmed in anticipation. “How long have you been attracted to men?”

Will tilted his hips as subtly as possible, exposing himself further to Hannibal and silently seeking greater contact. “Long enough to know that I probably would have let you fuck me, even if I’d won that game.”

He could feel Hannibal’s smirk pressed against his thigh. “Is that so?” He challenged, easing just the tip of his finger into Will’s tight hole. Will hummed his agreement, fought to keep his hips still. His legs were beginning to burn with the stretch of being bound as he was; he could feel his muscles beginning to tremble with the exertion. Hannibal hummed himself, giving his finger a lazy wiggle as he contemplated Will’s claim. “An erotic prospect, to be sure, though you’ll forgive me if I don’t entirely believe you. Certainly your confidence has grown, but last night...sweet, innocent thing that you were...you were shaking like a lamb for me, darling.”

Will gave an annoyed huff and obstinately ignored the burning in his cheeks as Hannibal challenged his bravado. “I still took everything you gave me,” he pointed out. “Spread my legs for a stranger three times my age and let you ruin me. I’m not that innocent.” As if in demonstration, Will exerted what little control he had over his lower half and thrust himself down onto Hannibal’s finger; his snarky reply was probably weakened by the moan that cracked his throat as the digit playing at his entrance slipped deeper.

“I’m thirty-five,” Hannibal corrected him curtly. He earned another sharp nip to his thigh for his impertinence, but was relieved when Hannibal didn’t remove his finger, opting instead to add a second. “You should check your attitude if you want to experience my mouth on you, Will. I don’t abide rudeness.” Hannibal’s warning was overshadowed by the sensation of his fingers stroking and spreading within Will. 

“Sorry,” Will replied automatically, though it came on a sigh as he let himself melt into the mattress to focus on the sensation of being filled again. He had certainly felt an attraction to both women and men alike since puberty struck--and maybe a bit before that, if Will really scrutinized his past--but he had never considered how absolutely decadent it would feel to have something  _ in  _ him. It was a pleasure he was sure he would be chasing long after Hannibal left Biloxi, if not with another man then perhaps with a toy of some sort. He was certain that if he kept it hidden away with his extra cash and his pa happened to stumble upon it, the man would be more upset about the money.

Once again, Hannibal segued into the next topic as though his mind was tapped directly into Will’s thoughts. “What will you do when I’m gone, Will?” Hannibal murmured softly as his fingers glided effortlessly in and out of him. “Will you find someone to replace me?”

“I don’t think anyone could,” he breathed, took a chance and began to roll his hips gently in time with Hannibal’s thrusts. He took Hannibal’s lack of admonition as consent, encouragement, and picked up the pace, until he was more riding Hannibal’s fingers than Hannibal was fucking him with them. “I don’t think there’s anyone else like you. Least of all anyone that I would find in Biloxi.”

“You found  _ me _ in Biloxi,” Hannibal pointed out.

“You found me,” Will countered, cried out and tightened when Hannibal rewarded him by crooking his fingers to stroke firmly against Will’s prostate. “Oh,  _ fuck,  _ no, wait--I’m gonna come if you do that,” Will groaned, stilling his movements and willing himself to calm down. He couldn’t even grasp at his dick, bound as he was, and was forced to slow his breathing and urge himself back from the edge by sheer strength of will alone.

Hannibal gave a thoughtful hum at that, though redirected his digits to a less sensitive area and began a slow pace of thrusting in and out once more. “Oh? And if I do this?”

Will choked on his next breath as Hannibal swallowed him down, neither his body nor mind knowing exactly how to deal with the sensation of the wet heat that encompassed him after being teased for so long. “Oh _ \--fuck--yeah, _ I’ll come from that,” he moaned; his hips resumed their thrusting instinctively, desperate to push up into the feeling of Hannibal’s warm mouth and dancing tongue. Hannibal hummed again--around him this time--and the buzzing vibration rippled into Will’s cock and through his body and before he could even hope to stop it, his stomach was tensing and he was pulsing his release down the man’s throat.

Fuck, how embarrassing. He’d barely lasted a minute once Hannibal got his mouth on him.

Hannibal didn’t give him but a moment to feel self-conscious, pulling up immediately and commenting on how wonderful Will tasted in a silken purr. He pulled away entirely then, leaving Will to tremble with the aftermath of his orgasm and heave for a solid breath. Before he could even catch it properly, Hannibal’s hands were on his waist, hauling him up to perch on his bound legs, and then the man was settling at the top of the bed, his back resting against the cushioned headboard and his cock swollen hard and red between his legs.

“Come to me, Will,” Hannibal beckoned softly, his hand slipping languorously up and down his shaft. “Come show me how you would have seduced me last night, had I not won the game.”

The shuffle up the bed on his knees, his legs and hands bound the way they were, was an awkward and slow one, but eventually he made it up to Hannibal’s hips. Hannibal released himself to assist Will in swinging one leg over his body to straddle him, and then his hand was back, holding his thick cock up and waiting for Will to guide himself onto it. Will shifted his hips until he was sure he was positioned correctly, and then met Hannibal’s eyes in a challenging glare and sank down.

They both moaned as Hannibal filled him--Hannibal’s a low, savory note of satisfaction and Will’s a higher, whimpering thing at the overstimulation. He held still when their flesh met, his hole pulsing erratically at the new thickness that filled it. He was vaguely aware that his body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He shuddered as Hannibal’s palms found his hips, though rather than guide Will, he opted to slide his hands up and down his trembling torso.

“Move for me, darling,” Hannibal urged in a whisper, and Will whimpered and complied, stiffening his muscles and drawing himself up and then down slowly. It was an unsteady and shaky movement--awkward for his lack of balance, and despite his embarrassment at his lack of intuitive movement, he moaned again at the sensation of Hannibal sliding into him, splitting him open. His wrists tugged uselessly against their restraints.

“I want to touch you,” he moaned after a few more lazy thrusts. He knew he could move more smoothly, make this even better for both of them, if he could lean forward to steady himself on Hannibal’s chest--the headboard, even. _ “Please,  _ Hannibal…” he sighed desperately.

Perhaps ‘please’ really was a magic word, or perhaps Hannibal wanted Will’s hands on him just as much, for the older man did not hesitate to comply, reaching forward with each hand simultaneously to deftly loosen the loops around his wrists. Will didn’t waste any time in leaning forward to plant them upon Hannibal’s broad chest, his fingers slipping through the coarse hair reverently. He let Hannibal bear some of his weight and then shifted his hips again, panting out a soft curse as the new angle sent sparks zipping up his spine to dance behind his eyes.

He worked himself on Hannibal’s cock that way, eyes squeezed shut and bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he fought to ignore the overwhelming sensitivity that shocked through him with each roll of hips and focused on the warmth that was building, slowly but surely, low in his gut once again. He didn’t know to expect Hannibal’s hand at his face, brushing back his sweat-laden curls and stroking down his cheek, but he leaned into the touch instinctively all the same.

“You are beautiful,” Hannibal breathed, and Will whimpered as the desire in his gut throbbed and his heart fluttered lightly in his chest. “Look at me, Will,” Hannibal urged softly, and Will did.

He opened his eyes to stare at his fingers, twisted in the pelt covering Hannibal’s chest, before finally, hesitantly, raising chin and eyes to meet the man’s gaze. The adoration on Hannibal’s face was breathtaking and nerve wracking and plainly evident even without the help of Will’s empathy. He felt his throat grow tight again at the sight, the rhythm of his hips stuttering for a moment as he lost pace. It felt so incredibly good for someone to look at him like that--like they wanted him, like he  _ mattered; _ like he was something precious, to be cherished, and not just some fifteen year old virgin that happened to draw the eye of a particularly lascivious man.

It was too much--Will was sure he would come apart in more ways than one if he tried to continue, so he closed his eyes and leaned forward and pressed his lips to Hannibal’s. It was only the second time they’d kissed since Will had arrived, and Will sighed against Hannibal’s mouth as they both altered their rhythm to accommodate for the new position. Will’s fingers dug into Hannibal’s chest like talons, the man’s own slipping into Will’s curls to control the angle of his head and slipping around his back to hold them flush together.

Hannibal tasted like wine and come, like cloves and honey. He tasted so good, Will never wanted to stop kissing him. Hannibal seemed to agree, devouring Will’s moans and plundering his mouth as though he had no intention of stopping until each and every bit of him was claimed by tongue and teeth. The night before, Will had met his kisses with hesitance borne of ignorance and anxiety. It was safe to say that all hesitancy had been fairly well stripped away by now; these kisses were not the soft, tentative things of a trembling boy. Will matched every ounce of aggressive enthusiasm that Hannibal poured into the kiss, nipping at his soft lips and sucking on his tongue.

Hannibal kissed him until Will was dizzy and breathless, and then broke away to nip at his ear, press wet kisses down his throat. Will arched his neck to give the man more access, eyes squeezed tight once more and clinging to Hannibal’s shoulders as he concentrated on rolling his hips to meet Hannibal’s upward thrusts.

“You cannot possibly know how much I desire to leave my mark on you,” Hannibal murmured into his neck, and Will moaned and shuddered as Hannibal’s teeth grazed teasingly over his flesh. “To leave a livid bruise against your creamy skin, high up so as to not be covered--here, perhaps--” Hannibal pressed his lips just below Will’s ear, at the corner of his jaw. “So dark that it would take days to fade. Evidence to all that would see you that you are not for them; you have already been claimed by me.”

Will couldn’t stop the whimpered moan that fell from his lips as Hannibal’s words painted a perfect portrait behind his eyelids. It was an entirely possessive, domineering statement, and it made Will’s cock throb. Even so, his instinctive modesty and solitary nature had his lips moving immediately to refute the claim “A wasted effort, to mark and claim something no one else wants,” he panted.

Hannibal hooked Will’s chin and guided their mouths back together. This kiss was soft, gentle, their lips parted just so, slotting together perfectly again and again until Hannibal was speaking against his mouth.

“I very much believe that a great many people have seen and desired you, Will. You just haven’t noticed. You are far more than you even realize.”

“More what?”

“Everything.” Another soft kiss. “Beautiful, intelligent, cunning, enchanting.” Another. “Desirable. You are more.”

What was it about this man that had Will delirious with wanton lust one minute and on the verge of crying the next?

He swallowed around the lump in his throat for the fourth time that night, raised his hands to cup the man’s sharp jaw as he pressed forward for another kiss. “I’m going to come. Fuck me harder. You want to leave your mark?” He snagged Hannibal’s wrists and guided them to settle upon his hips. “Go for it.”

Hannibal didn’t comment on the soft demand, nor Will’s avoidance of the subject. He merely dug his fingertips into Will’s flesh, shifted his legs to plant his feet on the mattress, and then fucked up into Will with such speed and power that he found he had to cling to Hannibal’s shoulders once more or risk being unseated altogether.

He didn’t try to match this pace, just let himself fall pliant in Hannibal’s grasp, bouncing fluidly with the motion of his hips, head thrown back with a cry as Hannibal shifted slightly and then began to strike Will’s prostate with every thrust. And that was the catalyst, the final thing that broke through Will’s emotional barrier. Tears burned his eyes and he let them fall; tears borne from the painful pleasure of being overstimulated, from finding one person in his life that told him that he was worthy, not only acknowledged for being different but elevated for it. Tears because this man made Will feel  _ good _ in ways that were fundamentally physical and not. Tears because by this time the next night, this man will have boarded a plane, flown back to a place that may as well be a world away and once again Will will be left horribly and utterly  _ alone. _

Words were flying from his mouth, he knew, but he could not decipher what they were. Pleasure striped hot through his body again and again until he seized with the final burst, shuddering with his orgasm as Hannibal moaned and continued to plow into him. He hardly even noticed when Hannibal’s hips stilled at his own release, because Will’s body was still shaking with the intensity of his sobs, his face pressed tightly to Hannibal’s chest as large, warm hands stroked gently down his spine.

He didn’t remember Hannibal shifting them to lie on their sides, or moving to untie his legs--though the memory of lips meeting chafed flesh was bold in his mind. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he was certain he did so wrapped in Hannibal’s embrace. 

\---

This time, when Will slept, he did so for far more than an hour. He woke to fingers drifting through his hair, tucked against Hannibal’s chest with the man’s larger frame curled protectively around him. He tilted his head up to look into the older man’s eyes without being told to, and Hannibal rewarded him with a soft kiss.

Hannibal told him that it was nearly four in the morning, that they had just over another hour before Will’s self-imposed curfew. They did not have sex again, simply spent their remaining time with their limbs twisted together, sharing more of themselves with each other. It was almost more intimate than every physical act that had preceded it. Hannibal told Will about his practice in Baltimore and Will explained how easy it was to test out of a grade when you had an eidetic memory and no friends. Hannibal looked at him with pride in his eyes when Will told him that he may attempt to test out of high school altogether and get his GED as early as the following year.

“Doesn’t make much sense to wait, keep getting dropped into a new school every six months.”

“Surely you’ve earned enough money this weekend to secure your stay in Biloxi--for awhile longer, at least.” Hannibal pointed out. Will’s cheeks flamed at the reminder, and it must have shown, because a moment later Hannibal was stroking the back of his finger down the side of Will’s face, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I think I might just save it,” he mused out loud. “I’ll be starting college soon enough. Even living on campus, it will be expensive.”

Hannibal gave a soft hum. “Invest in your future,” he agreed with another tender touch to Will’s face as he brushed away the hair that had fallen into his eyes. “It’s certainly a worthy investment.”

“As worthy as you found my body, hopefully,” Will replied with a smirk, felt it falter only a moment later when his gaze involuntarily flickered to the clock; nearly five. “I don’t want to go,” he sighed as he gave a stretch. “I don’t want you to go,” he admitted in a whisper. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that.

Hannibal pressed forward until he was turning Will onto his back, slid his body over to cover him. He let their lower bodies drape together, holding himself above Will’s torso on his forearms and gazed down at him. “Remarkable boy. This meeting was unexpected, our circumstances unlikely, but I do not think we have seen the last of each other.”

Will couldn’t stop the smile that split his lips, even as he felt a little bit childish seeking such placating reassurances from a relative stranger. “Yeah?”

Hannibal leaned down to press another kiss to Will’s mouth. “I’d bet on it,” he murmured against Will’s lips.

Later, when Will was sitting sore and sated in the back of a cab, shuttling him back to the real world with his double-wide trailer and booze-soaked father, he found himself wondering what sort of programs the colleges in Maryland might offer. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://raiast.tumblr.com)


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